Dusk

An earlier version of this poem appeared in The New York Quarterly, #25, 1979.

Spreading a stain of ripe mango
The sun dissolves among plum-colored clouds

We have come out again to watch
And talk quietly or not at all
Grateful, taking solace

Like a last thought before sleep
A dove homes toward the glowing rim
Dragging a blue sheet
That turns black when no one is looking