Too early for bed,
too exhausted for work,
I watch evening cover
western Connecticut.
Moon and stars lie
concealed by clouds;
only darkness remains
welling up from silence.
I walk among woodlots.
Narrow bridges span
creeks imprisoned in ice.
Bells of frozen iron
hang in country steeples.
From barren fields
rises that formless grief
our night calls brother.
James Deahl
Sarnia, ON