This evening of open windows
Night waits among the leaves
As quietly as tea draws,
As a last fruit ready to fall.
Things seem about to step apart,
As though far too close
For what is coming to pass through.
Then, as if grown too long,
Song breaks away from the bird
And in this silence everything,
As in a minuet, is briefly parted
Before the last movement can begin.
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Comments about this poem (Nightfalls by Seamus Hogan )
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