The opposite of sunset is not sunrise.
We walk across the sand
through a forest of dead trees.
It is the old Black man, fishing,
wise and true,
sitting by the lagoon behind us.
Wearing a bleach white shirt and cotton overalls,
he carried his jug of water and cane pole
to catch a fish that would end an era.
The opposite of sunset is a new age.
Here we are facing east on the shore.
We look hard. We look hard where
all the beauty in the world
crashes on the shore before us.