Written on a train, some years ago
The tail-end of dusk,
Its softness making beauty of the world
The distant horizon pinked up in pastels
Beckons to eternity
While leftward lies darkness
Gathering all to her endless embrace.
The trees now shorn to subtlety
Are framed against the remnants of the sky
Trees, hedges, houses
All are soft shadows of themselves
And even a car-park sheathed in raucous lights
Can not offend.
The hemisphere runs in colours
Tuned to some resonance within
That calls out to savannah’s long ago
Beauty is leaving us and –
I cannot, cannot hold this,
Cannot make enough of my mind space
To seize this fleeting figure of the world
And make it fast.