L'aura del Campo

A day too soon [183]

A day too soon

Loons call before twilight
shimmers across lakes as they land,
move away from where we stand,
watching. White pines cloak the darkness
within them, watchmen rising from the root
of the earth, cupping this puddle
of gleam and ripple. What lies beneath
jumps for a midge, an unwary wanderer.
In a long descent from silver to onyx,
ebony shadows circle. What gathered
at the edge now fades towards the middle
and night releases last light to join the moon
sinking in the west. It is best to remember
this stillness, the laugh of the loon, pine scent
wafting over water, this day before you'll die,
Zmitri, a day too soon.

© Kåre Enga (18.july.2017) Lexi#8 [174.183.zm]