Sonnet At 8:10 P.M. The effect of perspective, like how the sunset is really A funeral; the lowering of the sun like a blazing Casket, the sky the pallbearer, and we the stars’ third cousins Twice-removed with only vague memories Of the departed: why else do we don The same black at close of day But to mourn politely into the night? Or how the sunset is really An offering from God; a golden reward for enduring, Like orange roses gifted after the actor’s gritty display In the day’s play. Or how the sunset isn’t really Anything at all but routine, meaningless, the machine-like order operating beyond and without us. Or how the sunset is really just the painting you and I encounter At the museum and study honestly, admiring the art without ever truly understanding it.
Nate Metz is an undergraduate writer attending Santa Clara University. He has previously been published in SCU’s The Owl (forthcoming) and won first prize in the Shipsey Poetry Prize. As an avid reader and writer of poetry, he sees poetry as a sincere means for self-expression and a critical way to explore our shared humanity.