Withdrawing into a late year afternoon

Pale yellow sky descending

Wood-smoke mist drifting

And I’m nestled in the mess of a terrace garden

Big leaves on the ground

The day is almost over

If it ever began

All things are ending, save what you can

Amber burns in grey façades

Grimshaw palette, rising gloom

The signal is weakening

Our century receding

The old bones waking

Now is falling, past reclaiming

Thrive again in the closing down

In the dying light

We become alive.