There is darkness in this light,
this pale banquise of the sky,
black boughs up-reaching and homing crows,
cold in the hollows where frost will grow
and huddle birds on midnight branches,
and in night falling from the cold reaches of space,
touching the golden grass-pools
with an antique breath, old as dragons,
scaled skin creaking in every stiffening blade of grass.
There is darkness behind the soft lamp light,
the murmuring flames, voices hushed
as leaves before sunset silence,
it grows in the depths of eyes,
receding from this world, searching inwards
for the way in a gathering gloom.
Pale light ebbs from the cold sky,
leaves behind on its pale strand, the spiralled shell of an eye,
a dragon’s watching gaze, the evening star.
I hear it calling you with the wild voice of olden times,
urging those stiff unbending legs to run
with the pack, waiting on the other side of this night.