Something <br />cold is in the air, <br />an aura of ice <br />and phlegm. <br />All day I've built <br />a lifetime and now <br />the sun sinks to <br />undo it. <br />The horizon bleeds <br />and sucks its thumb. <br />The little red thumb <br />goes out of sight. <br />And I wonder about <br />this lifetime with myself, <br />this dream I'm living. <br />I could eat the sky <br />like an apple <br />but I'd rather <br />ask the first star: <br />why am I here? <br />why do I live in this house? <br />who's responsible? <br />eh?<br /><br />Anne Sexton<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-fury-of-sunsets/
