“The hares of the dawn' -- the ingenuous metaphor of the cowboy poet -- are the little round clouds on the horizon behind the dark fringe of the thicket, golden in the sunrise.”

“Night falls. Or has fallen. Why is it that night falls, instead of rising, like the dawn? Yet if you look east, at sunset, you can see night rising, not falling; darkness lifting into the sky, up from the horizon, like a black sun behind cloud cover. Like smoke from an unseen fire, a line of fire just below the horizon, brushfire or a burning city. Maybe night falls because it’s heavy, a thick curtain pulled up over the eyes. Wool blanket.”

“This grand show is eternal. It is always sunrise somewhere; the dew is never all dried at once; a shower is forever falling; vapor is ever rising. Eternal sunrise, eternal sunset, eternal dawn and gloaming, on sea and continents and islands, each in its turn, as the round earth rolls.”

“The poet is just like the fabled hunter who naps beside a tree, waiting for hares to break their skulls by running headlong into the tree trunk. After waiting for a long time, the poet discovers that he is the hare.”

“This isn’t my first Merry-go-round, Cowboy.”

“To watch the dawn emerge from the night undoubtedly gives a heavenly feeling! The fresh sun rays entwine with the dark horizon and peep out of the creek with tranquil grin.”