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Golden Summer, Eaglemont

                           after Arthur Streeton

Late afternoon amber falls across house
and far-off mountains, while shadow
forms a new perimeter. The human body
among the sheep: young—a waif—muted
by the shade except for his brilliant shoulder,
glowing whiter than the curve of cloud.
And the shadow-casters? As usual, offstage.
(The dullness, or menace, they provide

is tonic for the eye.) I have walked here—
I know that east-glancing scene, and have
imagined myself driven back a century.
The eye measures time and shadow. See.
The sheep scatter with relief that noon-hour
is past, and the boy takes his pleasure
standing between day and coming night. 

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