By Robert Penn Warren
From plane of light to plane, wings dipping through
Geometries and orchids that the sunset builds,
Out of the peak's black angularity of shadow, riding
The last tumultuous avalanche of
Light above pines and the guttural gorge,
The hawk comes.
Scythes down another day, his motion
Is that of the honed steel-edge, we hear
The crashless fall of stalks of Time.
The head of each stalk is heavy with the gold of our error.
Look! Look! he is climbing the last light
Who knows neither Time nor error, and under
Whose eye, unforgiving, the world, unforgiven, swings
The last thrush is still, the last bat
Now cruises in his sharp hieroglyphics. His wisdom
Is ancient, too, and immense. The star
Is steady, like Plato, over the mountain.
If there were no wind we might, we think, hear
The earth grind on its axis, or history
Drip in darkness like a leaking pipe in the cellar.
Still in Hanover, going home late afternoon. Here is a picture of the sunset, which apparently was spectacular even by local standards as there was a picture of it in the local paper. Will post Boyds Bears and more Maximus (there's a comparison shot from Gladiator in the comments from the earlier entry if anyone doesn't believe me about the name) when I get home!
Happy Presidents' Day if you are celebrating it. Otherwise happy Monday. I don't need to repost that Marriage Is Love meme one more time for anyone to need to know where I stand on that issue, do I? I've written my letters to my representatives many times...