From the dark of the sleeping room
See the fog
Drowsing in the forest under a pale
Ghost-moon;
And the wide limbs of oaks,
Black arms and tentacles
Hulking in the silence,
Framed by the faint blue sheen of the mist.
The moon hovers
High over the horizon,
Over the winding shadow of road
And the darkened house crouching in the woods beyond.
A silver-blue Siren of light-music,
She hums a high, wavering note
To the swollen, sleepy fog.
The trees are underwater,
The sleeping house submerged,
And invisible fish
Are cavorting in the branches, in the weird
Blue gloom of drowned lamplight.
George Chadderdon © 2000