So sweepingly pink
the sunset over the city
that it pours
into the emptiness—
not to fix it, no,
more as if to show
what a little splendor can do
when given a place
to enter.
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged beauty, city, poem, poetry, sunset on November 25, 2017| 2 Comments »
So sweepingly pink
the sunset over the city
that it pours
into the emptiness—
not to fix it, no,
more as if to show
what a little splendor can do
when given a place
to enter.
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged emily dickinson, heron, nightfall, oneness, solitude, sunset on October 30, 2011| 1 Comment »
How the old mountains drip with sunset
—Emily Dickinson
Dear Emily,
It was just as you said, tonight,
the San Juans rose and blue,
and in the shallow reservoir,
the herons dripping, too—
I did not mean to startle them
as grayly there they stood,
but on hushed feet I stepped myself
into solitude.
Wing after wing they rowed themselves
into the muted dome
till all went dim—oh dark abyss!—
and we were held as one.