Dear Baruk,
I have often tried to imagine the sunsets that you have described,

How you say they fall with a satisfied sigh,
dipping into the white sands of Gokarna beach
and merge the shadows into the palm trees

Or the ones that you see now down there
amidst protest signs and occupying Aotea Square,
Do you still pause to look?
How strange and yet familiar they would seem,
Like death.

I imagine we have sunsets here too
But in our rush to get home and ready
for churches and committees
We have missed them
We only have white walls and bright lights
taunting an indifferent sun

Adamant that the world is bad and ending
and our little lives, worthless and suffering
We offer up prayers convinced of their worth in volume

I sometimes wonder Baruk,
If God is not in here
but out there, busy making sunsets.