From "In a Different Light"

The Turning of Veils

​In the critical light
I mistrust my hanging on
To all this golden luster,
A cup of any flying dream
Spills quickly when
I dress for the cold,
My work undone,
Thrown back into the loamy earth,
These hands
Hold all my anger in tenderness
And forgetting,
Softening toward fall
And the turning leaves,
Brittle in flushing their colors out
Into that long silence of winter’s coming,
The bursting forward of sky
Taking their place;
I let go of my hands,
Drop the summer light down,
Already smelling of that early dark
All their power now is in opening and release.