Nothing But a Sunset - Living In the MoMA
This is no Nantucket watercolor,
Closeted, waiting for the artist’s death
To fetch a better price.
This is not some dusty postcard landscape,
Motionless, stocked in a convenience store
Beside the instant rice.
This is never taught to yawning students,
Analyzed, cautioned as a stale technique.
Dismissed as a device.
This is nothing but a sunset.
Fifty shades of mystic rose dry-brushed on the sky.
Here today and here tomorrow.
Gone before you’ve seen enough.
Burning through the ages and bordered by creation.
Now of life and now of death, beyond interpretation.
A riddle in simplicity of which one thing is certain:
The star we witness setting here
Is rising someplace else.
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