"The sun sets in the cold without friends..." (W.S. Merwin, Dusk in Winter)
Merwin's sun sets friendless, reproachless,
and yet tonight the sun lingered,
loathe to leave the stage.
It blushed the belly of each witnessing cloud,
like the touch of a grand dame
on a courtier's cheek as she exits.
It seemed intent on defining once, for all,
the color gold by trailing
miles and miles of purple complement.
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