Even the wind has a sort of lifespan. The first and final breezes disappear
Together. No matter when we forget, when we forget,
What we forgot is gone. Toward the evening of a gone world,
The light of its last autumn found and suffused the red rock
Of Zion. The grandeur of the weather is a glorious shawl
Around the shoulders of a petty human being, grieving
And feeling sorry for himself and all his trifling ways.
That's what I was thinking as I sat in a spare chair
At evening while the tourist traffic ebbed and flowed
Around me, but what I said, to a random neighbor
Who spotted me, was, laughing, "I'm fine! Beautiful evening!
The katabatic winds should be blowing down soon."
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