The air is still; the wind has turned
And quieted. The clouds are gone
and summer's warmth untimely
Licks the river in the fading light.
This is the calm when leaves roll over
And dogs become unsteady,
Cats go off by themselves,
And even hydrants seem the wrong colors.
Just as the still is settling down
In the long evening twiligt,
A creak and click are felt,
Not known but understood as
Ancestors are understood.
Then, in a timing down of the world's
Best chaps
Then i the storm unleashed
That sears the eyes in the shine
And of BS again
Makes a godhead in the night.

Aloysius Prendergast De Vere
Rattled in Cages Known to None
Waterside Publications
Lesser American Poets Series
Chicago, 1957