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The light has gone out and the dogs lie sleeping.
The birds have finished their winter songs.
This is the time, with night come now
fully down, when I ought to draft
a calm vintage anthem of silence—
flakes of starlight wheeling too slowly
to notice beyond the clouds;
flowers still left to the year
cupping frost in their throats;
granite stones grown stubborn
in the mowed field up on the hill.
But even in this hour
a piece of glassed-in sea hums beside my chair.
Above the zebra eel a trigger fish hovering
takes blue stock of his chances.
In the red coral cave, that stowaway crab
decorates his carapace with shells.


The Image archive is supported in part by an award from the National Endowment for the Arts.

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