The affairs of one more sunset,
Of eastern daring shadows
Drawing effigies for west to burn
And waxwork hours turning
Who’d ever thought
They’d come to pass,
So patient was the air today.
But dusk has played me simply
And I’m sleepless in its breadth,
Like every second’s end embodied
Crimson on the margins unexpected.
And it’s instant
And I’m stayed,
And it’s the effort of the sunset
In its idealistic moments
To deceive me.