Nocturne

[smokingboot]

There is a softer music
moving with the tide
kinder to shadows
supple like a lover;

To hear it is a joy
limpid and simple
as the sea-hawthorn
washed ashore

smelling of salt and nectar,
a witches charm
storm-whispering
to beguile cloud-lost birds

Then to rest
on the sands at dusk
watching little lights flicker
 across the hills