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A Prayer For Sunset
by Helen-Lee Brownstein
The sun is tangled
in black branches,
raving like Absalom
between sky and water,
struggling through the dark terebinth
to commit its daily suicide.
Now slowly the sea consumes it
like a glistening wound
on the water
a red scar on the horizon;
In darkness
I set out for home,
terrified by the clash of wind on grass,
and victory of the weeds and water.
Is there no Joab for tomorrow night,
with three darts
and great heaps of stones?
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