Sunsets 

(variation on a theme of Hölderlin)

I

A god salutes us: flinging his molten gold
across the city sky, the Sustainer takes
  his leave. But no one lifts his eyes, nor
  heeds as that pledge to return now filters

like powdered fire silently through the noise
and rush of Melbourne’s traffic — except some youth,
  perhaps, who slides a train-door open,
  inwardly stirred to an ancient worship.