In

your small car

2

We hurry to reach bed;

It is late

And you drive very fast,

And the street streams with colors

As if dyers in the hills

Had emptied vats of light.

3

At the beach

The sun was joyful as a cymbal All day, and your hair golden

As a small cousin of the sun;

Far from the beach,

In darkness,

I shut the car door now

And see the sun

Still glowing in your hair,

And I want to tell you something:

That there will never be such a sun again.

As the sun we shared today;

But you are too young to hear me;

I turn and limp, sunburned, barefoot

To my single door,

And you drive off.

27