The days are lengthening, they say,
the dark receding, a black tide,
leaving star spots glittering on the sand.
Cold grips and tears,
a rangy dog with a piece of carrion
stolen from a crow,
and beneath the trees,
dead leaves puddle and seep
into the mulchy earth.
In the sky is darkness still,
sunless was and sunless will,
no robins sing beneath the light,
terne as leaden unplumbed depths,
of this ever-hungry dark star yawning.