Pale sky and one star, pale star,
Twilight twisting down like a slow screw
Into the balsa wood of Saturday afternoon,
Late Saturday afternoon,
a solitary plane
Eating its way like a moth across the bolt of dusk
Hung like cheesecloth above us.
Ugo would love this, Ugo Foscolo,
everything outline,
Crepuscular, still undewed,
Ugo, it's said, who never uttered a commonplace,
His soul transfixed by a cypress tree,
The twilight twisted into his ...