From the mound of stones, we sat across the view
Of an entire world on the brink of its last evening.
You observed the city, and what it meant to you:
Already, there were trails of road lights – drawing
A dot-to-dot from here to eternity,
Winking lights which, as they carried on,
And further still, suggested an horizon
Which had only recently become the shape of nuance,
Too distant to be real. Even the sky was cold:
The afterglow of light was now in colour
Only, a spectrum complete in heaven’s tiers
Like iridescence, turned devotional:
Pain-red, cold umber, greens which melted bright,
Up to impossible blue, slumbering above.
All this would soon be night. And having said
Exactly all between us to have said,
We staggered up from the heap of stones we sat upon
And, pulling coats together, walked on to night.