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Sunset Over Docks, Odessa
That dark pointed cloud looks dangerous,
silently cruising the sky, a long
ragged chromavorous (color-eating)
hunter, plunged into feeding frenzy
by the least tincture of pink
in the greying vault of sky, ravenous
to gobble up whatever has shed
this bloom upon air and water.
Poor fugitive sun, tries to hide
among dark harbor bric-a-brac,
pretends to be the mast of a ship,
silly sun, for masts aren't round
and bright orange. Of course, sun
knows nothing of "round". He sees
only his stretched-out reflection
in the waves--a mast among wobbly
masts and cranes, why not golden?
Oh, sun, you hide like a small child.
The hunter sniffs right over you.
Soon I fear you'll be swallowed up.
October 6, 2002