The Sun is Setting
Visions of the sunset—
It sets every night,
Sometimes at 7 o’clock,
Sometimes at 8 o’clock,
Sometimes at 9 o’clock.
It spins and sings over the cornfields.
It baptizes the garage.
The drops of dishwater splattered on the counter
Are tears that the sunset laps up.
Purple gold is in my veins,
Penetrating my reasons for why
This and that has to happen in the world.
The sunset softens to a flannel blanket
That the world pulls over itself
When it is sick and wants to be left alone.
It is all the comfort I need in life.
Much as the sunset is fantastic,
I love a good soapy sunrise.
I want to wake up early on some summer morning,
Take a bicycle and ride all day
Until I am drop-dead exhausted,
Only coming back when the crickets sing.
I want to take a field trip away from reality.
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