Classic Poem

Last night when the sun went down
and the light lifted up — it was levered
off the last high land westward
through tier after tier of cirrus
and cumulus cloud,
all the way to the zenith — such
a finale of auroral cold fire
no one could speak here. We stood
like pillars of salt looking after it
a long while till it all faded
into grey and dark-grey. Oh,
how do we survive it, how
do we survive, when more than we dared dream of
is given, for no reason, and for no reason
taken away.