Afternoon
for C. H.
I knew the afternoon was coming to a close—
and it’s all right that you weren’t there with me—
as I made out a star from my window.
But that was fine. There is no afternoon . . .
Brick, a literary journal
Brick
PO Box 609, Stn P
Toronto, ON M5S 2Y4
Canada
Works of art are of an infinite loneliness and with nothing to be so little reached as with criticism. Only love can grasp and hold and fairly judge them. — Rainer Maria Rilke