I fell asleep upon the earth
lighted by the morning sun;
when I awoke, it was evening,
the horses of the sun were gone.
I rubbed sleep from my sleepy eyes
that I might watch the colouring light;
then suddenly it was upon me,
the blue, the black, the sacred night.
It spread itself across the sky
like the bird that is always free;
it moved like a ghostly whisper
from autumned tree to tree.
The ripened leaves were giving back
and the fires of the evening stars
had lit the aqueous air.
I remember as I slept again
the fragrance of the furlèd flower;
above the earth, beneath the sky,
rejoicing in the magic hour.
The sun came up next morning
as on unnumbered days before;
but I awoke with a shiver
as though on a cold, cold shore.
(written ca. early 2010, revised ca. 2012)
For more about the poem, see notes.