The ends replace the middle

I enjoy the ends of the day better than the middle
Because the middle is the time for accomplishment
And the flowing of the synapses, left and right,
Running, running, running
And the loss of direction for the multiplicity
Of directions and I am spinning again
Toward the flattening end
Of this day, when the afternoon colors will diffract
And diffuse and multiply
Towards a purple end
Tattered with starlight
Where I will stop again and rest

To rise again to another gathering of the colors
And light, golden light, streaming through the pine trees
And the quietness of early solitude, punctuated by the song of birds
And the coming of Summer or Spring or Fall or Winter;
It matters not because it is the beginning of another day.