The older sun in evening doesn't glow for long.
What briefest moments that we might have had to warm ourselves,
awash in the beauteous dull orange glow,
or to chance to hear a solar wind if it should blow
by Earth and penetrate the atmosphere
and sing a breathy song befitting to a greater sphere—
if they were ever more than a light
and instant brush against another, stranger
phenomenon—
can only be remembered now, since now they all have gone.
Perhaps the sun is glowing elsewhere, much more bright,
at least now, if it hasn't always;
there are distant flashes reflected in the sea.
But, as the gloaming darkens, we can consider:
much as nature moves the bodies in ellipses on their planes,
it's natural that we should be
in darkness.