Transition

We are not lost to darkness yet-

There is a sea-green glow that's West,

A dim mauve flush that's East, and set

Between, this purple hill of rest.

Your head that leans against my knee

Is darker than the night will be.

This is the quiet hour-when birds

Close their bright eyes and still their throats,

And shadows graze in phantom herds

Across the valley high with oats.

I think I am more lost in you

Than we shall be in the night's blue.