Issue 82, Winter 1981
The sun is all very well when it rises—then
who minds returning its abrupt salute?
But fortunate the man who still can find
room in his heart for its high-flown farewell!
Take my case, I’ve seen all nature swoon
under that gaze, like an over-driven heart.
Late as it is, who can resist the West
and the hope of entertaining one last ray. . .
No use following! The god withdraws,
and darkness comes into its own. The world
is cold and wet and full of mysteries;
a mortuary odor rises from the marsh
where my uncertain footsteps try to keep
from squashing frogs or snakes or something worse…