Under the Moon's Reign

Twilight was a going of the gods: the air
Hung weightlessly now - its own
Inviolable sign. From habit, we
Were looking still for what we could not see -
The inside of the outside, for some spirit flung
From the burning of that Götterdämmerung
And suffused in the obscurity. Scraps
Of the bare-twigged scene were floating
Scattered across scraps of water - mirrors
Shivered and stuck into a landscape
That drifted visibly to darkness. The pools
Restrained the disappearing shapes, as all around
The dusk was gaining: too many images
Beckoned from that thronging shade
None of which belonged there. And then the moon
...