Winter Evenings, East Suffolk
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The sun's and our days are shortening
While before
solstice the visible moon fills out,
What on these
lowland wide horizons lingers
As though to reiterate
recall, is dusk:
On the south-westerm from flame to
glimmer
Slowly the glow subsides
From scarlet to
roseate, amber drifts and shifts
Or else to a strip of
blue
Deeper than any a summer noon sustained.
If a
black cloud hangs there it shines
Rimmed with departing
light.
December's last leafage responds:
A red so
dark on this maple
It's nightfall too, detained,
Wisps
of pale yellow to ochre
On the rugosa stems wilting
As
on those with buds for another year.
Then, moon not
yet full, whole skies
Whether clouded or clear
And
silver tarnishing.
Never a night is total
Until
our vision, dimmed,
Disowns the shapes, the shadows,
All colours mixed on palettes too far away.
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