MUST I REGRET

Must I regret again that ridge beyond

Those hills alerts a greater silent me,

Admitting more than I, who knows alone

That there between the high horizon’s

Stop and here, are homes, holding haze’s

Thin blue sheltered line, clutching dusk,

Pretending evening; now letting start

The window lights where roots begin

That seem to sparkle solace of themselves

That none of us can ever, watching, find.

(Clicking on photos enlarges them.)