As the Sun Sets

Photo by Arden Meyer

A Poem by Ross Meyer

Indigo, like a weighted blanket, lies

Across a swirl of pastel pinks, 

All generated by the glowing orange coal 

On the horizon, silhouetting the river birch

In which the cormorants nest, wings outstretched. 

Someone once told me that it was simply particles in the air, 

As if listing the mediums used detracted from an artist’s masterpiece. 

For you, knowledge only increased your wonder, 

And you knew the birds and trees, 

All creatures, great and small, each called by name. 

Every evening, the sky drew your eye, and

You drew us with you. 

Teaching us to stop, to stare, to listen, to praise. 

On Saturday, you came back to us. 

The hospice nurse called it “terminal lucidity.” 

For us, it was a salve over the wound 

That had been slowly tearing open for 2 years. 

But when your eyes traveled over the familiar slope 

Of Augustine grass and cypress knees

There he stood: the glossy ibis. 

That iridescent fellow you had long desired to see. 

Somehow, one bird managed to encapsulate 

Your love of this world and the next. 

I cursed God in those days, and yet 

Here was a gift delivered with such 

Intimate knowledge of its recipient that 

Though there be other and better reasons,

And even if Nietzsche should rise from his grave 

To proclaim again that He is dead, 

I will still believe, and see you again.

Ross lives in the mountains of Western North Carolina with his wife and three children. He writes to process the deep emotions that intersect faith and life. He is a pastor by day and a poet by moments of inspiration under a starry sky or minutes of peace on a path through the Smokies.