Dusk Poem by Tamir Greenberg

If a moth comes through the window of my room
and sheds from its wings yellow dust on my notebook -
is this a sign?
If I wake at night from a troubled sleep
and at the foot of my bed stands a dark silhouette -
is it my friend?

Please, lie to me. Tell me how pretty is the rotting vine.
Tell me that the lengthening shadows at dusk are warm as well.

If a cold morning rises, and a dense fog enshrouds
homes, trees and people I loved to watch -
is there something else beyond?
If a crooked crack in the wall pulls my gaze,
and the beauty of line reveals an artist's skill, softness and intent,
is this a comfort?

Please, lie to me. Tell me that the foundation of the house is solid.
Tell me that beyond the oceans great lively cities wait.