In the leafy dark of powdered clouds,
beneath the arc of scented sky,
we walk the night paths you and I.
Hand in hand through ankle swathes of mist,
of dry twig-crack and damp grass-swish,
beneath owl-howl and gentle brush of bat,
our footsteps, heartbeats, in-out breath,
count the marching minutes pass.
We count and sigh and try hard to forget,
that this time of parched leaf-rustle,
tranquil hours laced with frog-song,
of perfumes from the deep dark gloom,
these star-prick moments full of savage love,
our yesterdays, tomorrows, all linked arm in arm,
make a chain forged with our birthing breath,
leading from this end of dusky day,
into the long and silent night.