Robert Penn Warren reads his poem The Nature Of A Mirror

The Nature Of A Mirror

The sky has murder in the eye, and I
Have murder in the heart, for I
Am only human.
We look at each other, the sky and I.
We understand each other, for

For the solstice of summer has sagged.  I stand
And wait.  Virtue is rewarded, that
Is the nightmare, and I must tell you

That soon now, even before
The change from Daylight Savings Time, the sun,
Beyond the western ridge of black-burnt pine stubs like
A snaggery of rotten shark teeth, sinks
Lower, larger, more blank, and redder than
A mother’s rage, as though
F.D.R. had never run for office even, or the first vagina
Had not had the texture of dream.  Time

Is the mirror into which you stare.