There was so much worthy of attention. The slightest angles of sun In the crux of evening Causing the leaves to shine, Or filling the city with such exquisite light That even the rooftops Shimmered into flame. There were the birds meandering home, Needing no other comfort than the wind Letting their songs float down like blessings. But even amongst the unarguable splendor, The ceaseless call to wonder, The fullness of that loss grew fuller. Like sand collapsing around the roots Of a ripped-out cedar, It swallowed the volcanic colors. Not able to cope, or wrestle With such enigmas, You turned your back on what was given, Unable even to bear that bright, empurpled sky.