There are sunsets I'd like to see,
from southern Australia,
the peaks of Snowdonia,
the heat-shocked depths of Death Valley,
the summit of Mauna Kea,
secluded beaches on Hawaii's Big Island,
villas in the hills of Madrid,
the sun setting behind a tramp's eyes
on Skid Row, Los Angeles,
the Sun from Halkidiki,
the Sun setting from space,
The Earth rising from the Moon.
I would like to see the Sun, playful,
caressing the Earth's back and working
its way down to kiss above the midriff,
the Sun spinning its diurnal magic,
God of light and darkness, Hades
drifting down into deepest night and sleep.
But the Sun is setting on me,
and as it shoulders to the horizon
I hear it weep;
and as it descends it says,
'I have no choice but to exist alone,
but you do,
so why are you sitting there
on your own?
'I have lived and watched growth and decay
and cycles cycling, the come what may.
And of all the creatures to whom I've given birth
you are the ones that have given most mirth.
'You have known and kissed the font of your own creation,
and yet it is you who threatens your tenure with its cessation.'