How sweet the eve
at the end of the day
when dusk falls from the sky
and the stars stitch neatly in
and a soft breeze nuzzles
the sleepy leaves
and the wild moon climbs
to his lofty crest
and the earth swells up
to the taste of dew
a cooling hand on her brow
and the din and the fiddle
of bird and bee
and their songs of light
have come to rest
how sweet the sound
of the midnight hour
when a hush drifts in
around
and night lies down
to her feathery bower
and the milky clouds
weave an inky sea
and now
how sweet the entirety
to be as one
but a pulse
and a breath
Sara Mathews December 2023
Photograph by Ingrid Mathews
