The sunset keeps watch on the Taconic,
an orange bruise for an eye
sulking its way into the Catskills,
trails red and gold ribbons
paralleling horizon
like a collapsing rainbow.
Somewhere beyond the trees
the Hudson wallows
in its avenue to Albany
whose roads depart for Buffalo
and points west where the land
falls flat and empty.
The smouldering eye winks
for the last time
between the gates of a valley
smothered in trees, still clinging
to the molten edge of the world.
No comments:
Post a Comment