Cool, Smooth Arms

Is the day done? Has the sun spit its last breath of fire into the clouds?
Does the venomous gargoyle clinging to the edge of the earth
Still dribble rust-speckled rain?
Is the air still swirling with dust from the bustling movement
Of vagabonds in a mad rush?
Is the moon, with its soft, calming light, on watch at last?

I am ready to be wrapped in the cool, smooth arms of the night.