night lake

The streetlamps are lined in mourning, heads bowed like widows

in falling veils of mist and light.

They are learning that night is not time,

but place to be inside of, held by or under. 

As the world fills as a lake over houses

That glow, buoyant with mademade day, steadfast against tide.

In saturations of grey and blue the gorse crests,

the wall swells, hills break,

white shapes float on the water

Smaller shapes recede in sinking.

Behind the hill the day's embers burn a tiring effort

Someone moves evening coal onto the final glow

in an effort to have one longer day.