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.