“Proud as the evening sky”
Modern poetry modern verse contemporary poetry contemporary verse modern poem contemporary poem
While fading on the breeze of thought from one
Lost memory to yet another lost,
From time before our sleeping, lost or won,
A notion tantalizes. It is crossed
By twilight made of blue—or orange dawn.
That does not signify. What matters comes
When see-through serendipities are drawn
To mix those evenings’ and those mornings’ drums
Though muted they may be. Silences made
Of colors never known are what they are,
These moments formed like crucifixion’s braid
When opium sends pain through gates ajar.
Both daybreak and the sundown whisper, crave,
And let clear meanings wither in their cave.
~ Phillip Whidden
