To Them

How this west shines its glory
and the plum gleams.
What raptures such as these cause
you to look back
ruefully?
I will not know.

The sky, the kingdom,
the gold of the land below,
are lifted above
our turning heads.

You will someday see it
and you will have wished for more

Time.

I know that this secret
stays with me,
for I can’t whisper it to anyone.

They will not hear of its glory,
and stay cold
in cold countries,
and fret and pace and frown--
always talking.
Never grasping silences like this
golden evening.

-G.B.