“Sundown” by David Pring-Mill, Frequent Contributor

Sundown

David Pring-Mill

There is no longer finality

to sundown.

I imagine that once

it meant so much more.

A true deprivation,

for a world postponed.

Old forms emerged

with windborne seeds;

new ones conspire

with nuts and bolts.

Electric salvation

spelled the end

of that special sovereignty,

A sundown of all sundowns!

The unalterable facts

of life

revealed themselves

to be alterable, as ideas

were stripped bare, before

searching minds.

So dandelions, glow! like silver tufted

mini-suns, charged up

as one shaft of cosmic cleverness,

for this moment, selects the hillside,

to target with affection.

Near haystack rock,

one golden wave, slipping away,

is chased by little feet,

with the giggling children

reaching, downwards

for fistfuls

of halcyon bliss,

then coming up

with soaked

and salty sands,

their high-pitched sounds

bouncing back

from monolithic rocks.

And all these things

become a vapid beauty

before the bulbs

light up everything we think

we need to see.

One problem remains,

of course:

People's discernment is poor;

Because we should always

be seeing as much as we can

while we can.

There is, in fact,

one sovereign sundown

remaining,

unaffected by Edison,

which will put us all

in darkness.

Poet's Notes:  I'm interested in the limits of existence. I wanted to capture a beautiful sight, while also touching upon that broader theme.