Scaling the hill behind my house
I draw back the sun and step into
its  blaze: first my cap, then my torso,
until I am submerged in its thick light.

I drag it along the ridge so that
by the time I reach Briar Creek Road
its full circle has lifted free of the ground
and I hurry along my neighbor's fence

Without stopping to acknowledge
his whinnying horses, and climb
to the high meadow where I sit
and wait for the next setting. The last flash

splinters the hills, lacquering a distant field
Then the air lets out its breath
with a sigh and on cue a dog
somewhere announces day's demise.

From Where There is No Night (Finishing Line Press, 2004).
Used with the author's permission.