What the deadly night said
The crows clack to roost down the darkening day,
settling in amethyst, long and seaward drawn,
how this paling light lies long upon the springtide bay.
See, all the lights of Southend, moth-drawn and wriggling,
preen with winsome gloss across this raven sea, long-
domed with a clichéd moon that milks the lovers’ angst;
see how the tide fills with our tears as hand in hand we
walk this promenade where time rushes away from all this;
back to the days when we kissed the stars, and we shuddered,
remember when we promised, come what may,
we would get to be here at the closing of this day;
even if we are poleaxed by the longing of the shadows
that depart with the last ship’s light over time’s horizon.
Cry no! No! To the shroud, bone-drawn across the moon!
Cold is this my goodnight kiss,
cold under these too late dreams.
Wait! Do wait; for the tide must surely turn?