End of Night

This time, above others, is Apollo’s:

Ancient Night has stretched long, like the North winter stretches long.

There is a blur of purple at the black horizon.

In moments it is spread to a violet efflorescence in the Sky, but

It has not yet rested upon the tree-tops.

The dew still buds, unmelted.

The road is swallowed in the dark.

The crows are awake, and shouting.

In Your Honor. Todd Jackson

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