Thursday, July 22, 2010

SUNSET

A poem as I watch sunset on the Pacific horizon


We say sunset
and our imagination
believes it is so--
the world is still
and the sun and heavens
move over and around us.
We know better,
and yet we embrace
the word image,
so ingrained it is.

If we reframe the scene
with more accurate words
how different we might
experience the event
we reverently observe.

Have we no word
for what we really see--
the earth upon which we
stand still and look westward
rolling ever so steadily,
speedily away from a
relatively fixed sun?
Can we not feel our movement,
can we not sense ourselves--
not that solar circle--
being whisked eastward,
sinking, falling away?
Is it not we who disappear,
not the sun?

And can we be comforted
that what goes around,
comes around?

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