Now in the twilight, oh brilliant flame,
you venture to the other side of the world
and leave the breath of your absence on our contours,
and round us falls the stillness of a darkness we would not
contemplate but for your insistence. Our
freshly keened selves strike a listening posture for the smiter,
the bird in the thicket is more helpless, and our own
trembling is deafening.
In this violet and gray, between light and dark,
the stars are not yet visible, and color dissolves
before us as if what is known to us has never been true at all, and
surely therefore, the ending of days is always nearer,
always at play in the next hour.
What do you know of our twilight madness,
on the other side of the world, oh brilliant flame,
so certain you are that we will abate, that the white stars will glimmer,
that your return will be triumphant.