Descent

Dusk creeps in like fall,
I never see the change at all, not
in the beginning.

Not until the chimney swifts grow silent,
their chatter fading with the light–
not until they too descend with night,

falling like dark leaves
into the chimney's cave.
Not until they take the twilight

with them, do I notice that the day is gone
and that every
thing, 

like swifts, 
descends 
to night.