In filtered sunlight footstools even shine.
They show in autumn tones their tenebrae,
A brown that sparkles—isn’t that so fine!
Along with chipper calls, cicadas pray.
The peaceful sun’s retirement from this day,
This night, leaves nothing lost; days do not die.
Instead, night gathers in and up our play
In packets portaged forward, tight and dry.
The day’s clear glare found jealousies and pillages
That vesper’s mellow candles will not hide.
The kingdom’s day is when come back whole villages
To plead their right, a warrior at their side.
Beware thy smiling, man, when daylight dims;
Redemptor stands athwart with freshened limbs.