The darkness here is different
From others I have known.
Not like city night spells
Sodium bathed, orange shadowed -
And not like home
Where any black is filled with
Motorway, distant car races
Human machine chases,
Magnified by sky.
No. Here the Herefordshire sheep
Are singing to the hedgerows
And the loud cow bay boom
Makes its deft way
Through inky blue and
Down on my waiting ears.
Yes. That is it:
Sound falls DOWN.
Spinning round the gentle hills
Like coins in charity collections.
And the tree-paused waiting
Slows the dog bark and the
Tawny hooting to something
Magnified and soothing I don't find
Elsewhere.
This is why I am here tonight,
After they are all in bed:
For the sumptuousness
Of being the last one up
And possibly the only audience
To this Empire Gig.
Only the night and this
Isolated countryside
Has the improvisational skills
To perform soporific magic
That soothes even the pips
Of my apple'd core.
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