A cool small evening shrunk to a dog’s bark
and the clank of a bucket –
And you listening.
A spider’s web, tense for the dew’s touch.
A pail lifted, still and brimming – mirror
To tempt a first star to a tremor.
Cows are going home in the lane there, looping the hedges
with their warm wreaths of breath –
A dark river of blood, many boulders,
Balancing unspilled milk.
‘Moon!’, you cry suddenly, ‘Moon! Moon!’
The moon has stepped back like an artist gazing amazed at a work
That points at him amazed
Ted Hughes (1930 – 1998)
Illustration by Suzanne Siegel