Dave Bonta's "Senescence" looks at the end of a day and treats it as the end of a life. The title means growing old, and the first line pushes that idea: the day itself has a "deep age," as if it has been worn down by its own length. It closes not peacefully but with "a company of ills," a crowd of small troubles and pains arriving together like unwelcome guests.
The middle lines turn to loss. The garden and the "talking god" echo the Eden story, where God walks and speaks with people in the evening. Here there is no pleasant stroll and no voice, so the speaker seems left alone with the dark. The poem suggests a lost comfort, whether religious or simply a sense of being at peace.
The last two lines are blunt: no amount of age could make the evening better. The mood is bleak, quiet, and resigned. The speaker doesn't rage. He just states what is missing, and the short, spare lines make the emptiness feel even larger.