The Shirt
The shirt touches his neck
and smooths over his back.
It slides down his sides.
It even goes down below his belt -
down into his pants.
Lucky shirt.
Let Evening Come
Let the light of late afternoon
shine through chinks in the barn, moving
up the bales as the sun moves down.
Let the cricket take up chafing
as a woman takes up her needles
and her yarn. Let evening come.
Let dew collect on the hoe abandoned
in long grass. Let the stars appear
and the moon disclose her silver horn.
Let the fox go back to its sandy den.
Let the wind die down. Let the shed
go black inside. Let evening come.
To the bottle in the ditch, to the scoop
in the oats, to air in the lung
let evening come.
Let it come, as it will, and don't
be afraid. God does not leave us
comfortless, so let evening come.
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Enjoyed, thanks.
ReplyDeleteIn particular, I like the asymmetry: "let evening come" occurring not on every stanza. Having, not having, with, without. The void which is not a void. The light counter-intuitively moving up. A sun about to be lost, more momentous than midday. The dew on the hoe which will cause rust. Or is it already rusted? Will it ever be recovered or just embraced by the earth? The bottle in the ditch, clearly discarded and empty. The scoop in the oats, to be re-filled and emptied like a lung, but the bottle, like a lung that has breathed it's last.
ReplyDeleteI always enjoy your comments on art, Sir. Thanks...
ReplyDelete