A little poem I scribbled at work day’s end…about how I see my sunsets on weekdays in the winter, when leaving work after sundown is common.
My office window faces the old Wilshire Grand hotel, built in the late 1950’s. It’s facade leaves very little to enjoy, aesthetically, as it “showcases” a sort of muted Brutalistic architectural style that seemed to be all of the rage in that part of the century. One saving grace is the way the sunset is able to reach me….even when I cannot sit and stare directly at it.
I get such a clear idea of what the sunset most likely looks like, I have learned to be able to tell – by only looking at this diagonal of light – whether the sunset is stunning, or just your average sunset.
There is a method 😉
I can see from my window
A building, Brutalistic, streamlined
1950’s architectural gem
(more so the rough on which a gem rests)
gutted and deconstructed, raw wounds on raw concrete
grids upon grids
and the sun at its magic hour
when shadows take over most of this city’s
over the empty hotel
drapes its soft light:
a table cloth, a sloppy diagonal hem
receding as minutes pass
as if some playful kitten is pulling
from the back.
I feel gratitude as the light’s linen changes
ombre hues of brass
the likes of Mahler’s jubilant Resurrection
splays of gold, copper, pink, russet
the symphony of brass bells are
glints of the sunset I cannot see
using the canvas of that western-facing wall.
– © Kristin Runnels