Sunset Over the Pacific

So a sea climbs the Atlantic horizon
Into the wait and the burden. These peaks
Jab sharp on the joints of the sky,
And the sinking sun whines
Like a tea-kettle, or a squealing pig,
Or a squealing pig hissing hot tea.
The waves are dividing in furrows, hence
Pastures of fish. The dark asteroids
Look like streaks of white on painted
Plaster, and laughter charms like a faraway bell.
This is a sea-calm, this quiet of the night,
When life is a sloping, a continual lapping.