Days of wind-chased rain & now a first steady chill between gusts. At last, sunset, peach & gold as a painter’s dream of truth. All at once, it seemed, the light rose as if it had discovered Earth, saying in its speechless way, glory & amen. It laved the grass & leaves, all still green, in a gold lie, dyed the clouds & left the sky such clear & brilliant blue as to make Technicolor seem no more than the dim, familiar palette of the real. We could almost believe the world asks to be cherished, sometimes, through our fear. From its great impersonal to our single selves, down to the cells a part of it, inseparable, though we stand apart & say a word like self. The dawn of understanding, by induction, must arrive again as it always has before: this dusk, trees already-darkened piers upholding sky, must come & go, give way to dark, to light, & on (remember)— out of history, beyond human will.