The corners of the sky were white

The corners of the sky were white—the center of them blue 
I curled my fingers ‘round the edges and bled frost inside them, too 

I watched the sun disappear behind great walls of fog— 
The day belonged to the chill, it seemed, the new morning 
I found the elegance of the lost evening disarming, an unparalleled deity expunged—

I suppose now we know—
We cannot trust new judgments—
We must not be content to end the old—

These changes, not but the growth of flesh and blood, but those that juxtapose—
Of dirt and bark and brine
To connect the world and every wonder—
To feel the coiling cold—
To feel it’s fall, the crests in its rise