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A Prayer For Sunset
by Helen-Lee Brownstein

The sun is tangled
    in black branches,
raving like Absalom
    between sky and water,
struggling through the dark terebinth
to commit its daily suicide.

Now slowly the sea consumes it
like a glistening wound
    on the water
    a red scar on the horizon;

In darkness
    I set out for home,
terrified by the clash of wind on grass,
and victory of the weeds and water.

Is there no Joab for tomorrow night,
    with three darts
    and great heaps of stones?
 

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