The raving air where winter-tree skeletal ranks stand guard
Wraps night around the near and far of hollow, hill and yard
The iron sky of morn-til-nigh recants its stone-faced quest
Where ‘now I lay me down to sleep’ tucks twilight to its
rest
Dark’s curb-less sea rolls in with ease to snuff dusk’s
remnant gleam
As day’s familiarities are caught up in its stream
And on the verge twixt yesterday and morrow, the ballast
Holding today in place must soon tender it to the past
The quickening of everything is amplified as night
Extinguishes the pictures that fill windows by daylight
The vantage-point of sun at noon is filled with moon and
stars
And midnight is a Brigadoon for wide-eyed foreigners
The clock may spell the hour in the belfry tower, still
The dark will drape Her cape across the face of it until
The impulse of something that nighttime never could resist
Breathes soft upon the skyline where the dark is morning-kissed
© Janet Martin
Soft as night itself your words.
ReplyDelete