by Stephen Dunn
Daylight illuminated, but only for those
who had some knowing in their seeing,
and night fell for everyone, but harder for some.
A belief in happiness bred despair,
though despair could be assuaged by belief,
which required faith,
which made those who had it
one-eyed amid the beautiful contraries.
Love at noon that was still
love at dusk meant doubt had been subjugated
for exactly that long, and best to have music
to sweeten a sadness, underscore joy.
Those alone spoke to their dogs,
but also to plants,
to the brilliant agreeableness of air,
while those together were left to address
the wall or open door of each other.
Oh for logs in the fireplace and a winter storm, some said.
Oh for scotch and a sitcom, said others.
Daylight concealed, but only for those
fond of the enormous puzzle,
and night rose up earth to sky
pagan and unknowable.
How we saw it was how it was.