The book includes poems written toward the end of his life in 2008, as well as selections from his earlier books.

This month's poem from
Theater of Memory

There Are Afternoons in Summer

There are afternoons in summer that are so fine
They seem an interval of time’s first day that has never ended
And will never end.

I am sure it is the palpable force of the light,
Of light so clear that one sees everything open to air:
    the veins on the underside of leaves
    the sharp serrations of the fern
    the shadow cast by each small stone
    the glass edge of the sea that is the 
        horizon’s line
    the sun flinging diamond fires from a patch
        of the bay
    the luminous wing-edge of a gull crossing.

The illusion dies as the day dies
When light lies down level in the weeds,
And the sky in the west takes color like a bruise
and the evening walks in cold shadows like the morning.