Timothy West

In the golden lightning of the sunken sun, or which clouds are brightening, thou dost float and run like an unbodied joy whose race is just begun.

The pale purple even melts around thy flight.

Like a star of heaven in the broad daylight, thou art unseen, but yet I hear thy shrill delight.

Keen as are the arrows of that silver sea... That set me off writing poetry.

Wait till we get to Broadway in six months.

If.