Evening Light by Feforvann

For Nico

by Andrew Sclater

It came across the lake at ten to nine,
a weightless gold uncertainty encasing spruce and pine

it glowed in silence, then it rose to shine
as only it, in its diffuse intensity, can shine

as nothing else you know can ever come so strongly on, then go
and sink to where the water is, unmentionably slow,

to where the birches’ branches catch the last of what is bright
and we ourselves become subsidiary to sight

which is itself foreshortening towards the coming night
as both of us turn tiny in the dimming light.