There is such a simple math
when it comes to Sylvia Plath
to this undying Confessional fad

for in order to finally add
one must first subtract
leave all balance left in tact

hence one must choose
to be prepared to then lose
before at last you dare take

that final line break

Evening is on the take
The sun herself senses it
Her heat is slipping away
Eclipsed by cold, arctic tendrils
Rilling through the fragile geography
Earth is a strong fighter though
Able to restore itself in serene defiance
Light she brings to keep night in its place