Sunsets

There are sunsets who whisper a good-by.

It is a short dusk and a way for stars.

Prairie and sea rim they go level and even

And the sleep is easy.

There are sunsets who dance good-by.

They fling scarves half to the arc,

To the arc then and over the arc.

Ribbons at the ears, sashes at the hips,

Dancing, dancing good-by. And here sleep

Tosses a little with dreams.