Haystack at sunset near Giverny - poem

Literary Review, Fall, 1993 by Tom Hansen

An hour ago the slant light at Giverny articulated the stubble of wheat - each separate stalk robed in an aura that eased it out of the chthonic dark, into a flood tide of light.

But now (this hour, now) this minute, sunset lingers - then surrenders ... The dying light: so numinous it blesses what it touches. A field begins to quiver, then gives over to its other.

A sea of wheat (slow rise, slow tumble) laps the fogbound shore, where trees and houses melt and run together like wet paint. A shape of hay: so huge it sinks the shipwrecked sun.

The endless metamorphosis dreams on.