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Here at the height of the day night change
The color of the sky is uncertain,
The sky depending in which direction
One's eye strains, each of its swatches a strange
Hue which dies too soon and which makes this hour
Linger in the mind transient as a life,
Whose names once known remain another
Posied-up portrait on our palette knife.
Until even I wonder if one tint
Ever survives the harm of seeming unique
(Evening's intrigue, time's singularity.)
Study for its trace, its placemap, I see
— Redundant as a stopsign in italic—
The face on which my profile leaves no print.
Bill Knott
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Read poems about / on: change, sky, night, time, life
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Comments about this poem (Compact Dusk
by
Bill Knott
) |
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Bill Knott
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Sue Ann Simar
(8/2/2008 10:19:00 AM) |
Compact Dusk, compact masterful language, too. 'I wonder if one tint/ ever survives the harm of seeming unique' - the word 'harm'
and words: 'Posied-up portrait on our palette knife'
'Redundant as a stopsign in italic'
a perfect last line: 'The face on which my profile leaves no print'
I love the third stanza and the title.
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Bill Knott
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