About half an hour before the sunset
something happens
to the shadows and to the air
and its light —
as Maxfield Parrish, among others,
knew so well —
a sudden sharper clarity and contrast
enters the world amid in turn aroused leaves,
and all that’s infused with life
becomes radiant with a single stroke:
what kind of god is so indulgent and profligate
that he wastes so much bounty and yet so briefly
upon so many mortal, unheeding minds.
But what we know of divine fortitude
and how much patience it takes for souls adrift
to ripen into a drop of elixir to likewise shine?
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