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Tropic Burial
TWO POEMS
TROPIC BURIAL
The day is passing in splendor, enormous clouds,
Color of hibiscus, wreathe the sky;
The hours of the sea spill the last bright minutes-
Nature, at least, knows how to die.
Along the road toward the sunset,
They carry the wooden box, a group
Of the insentient. All wear the eternal blue
Of dejection, and the eternal stoop.
They hide the withered tube of the body in the ground, ;
Huddling together in a blue smolder under the
brilliant haze;
And the earth, falling like night, buries forever
The sunset lingering in the eyes' hard glaze.