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Bill Knott

(1940 - 2014 / Carson City, Michigan)

Compact Dusk


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.

Submitted: Friday, January 03, 2003

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  • Rookie S. A. S. (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. (Report) Reply

Read all 1 comments »

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