In another country beside a sea far calmer
Than our own, I watched the evening begin
On the mountain, ease itself down the slopes
Of lavender, and stretch full out on the water.
To me it happened so quickly, but it was just
The evening taking its time. To the evening all
Acts of exertion are fruitless, a farce of human
Proportion. The evening knows what's really important.
The evening likes wine and the bathers who strip
Their suits and hang them from the terrace rail.
The evening likes cheese and olives and things that give
Themselves up with little effort. The evening likes slow
Sex, to play with the toes, the knees, the hips
Of the lovers. To climb the ribs of their torsos
And reveal to each their unkissed places. To
Astonish them with their illuminated faces.