Time and the bell have buried the day, The black cloud carries the sun away. Will the sunflower turn to us, will the clematis Stray down, bend to us; tendril and spray Clutch and cling? Chill Fingers of yew be curled Down on us? After the kingfisher's wing Has answered light to light, and is silent, the light is still At the still point of the turning world.
Time and the bell have buried the day,
The black cloud carries the sun away.
Will the sunflower turn to us, will the clematis
Stray down, bend to us; tendril and spray
Clutch and cling?
Chill
Fingers of yew be curled
Down on us? After the kingfisher's wing
Has answered light to light, and is silent, the light is still
At the still point of the turning world.
The days grow short. But let's occupy that still point of the turning world and watch the sun go down behind Manhattan.
We will once again gird our loins in noncotton cloth and prepare to fight the forces of capital that we might carve out a little bit of peace and contemplation: this time, we'll paddle over to Bushwick Inlet and relax while the sun sets.
The nights are cooling! So bring some layers. And if you have a head lamp, bring that, too.
Let's chill. In boats.