Nightfall

Was it at the close of wakeful light 
  Rough cutting field and town, 
  The dark blade-cleaving deep, 
  Eyebrow sharp and scything down, 
  The landscape hacked to sleep. 

And if it were my dreamless sight 
  Of haloed streetlamp flicker, 
  Murdered shadows spring 
  To lope and slither quicker 
  As the chimes of midnight ring. 

What if the eyes cannot adjust 
  And discern the rise of day, 
  Screening past the chilly tomb 
  That so engulfs and hides away 
  In a heart of darkest gloom. 

What if I no longer trust 
  Evaporate of hearthside yore, 
  And apparitions die as must, 
  Would I freeze forever more 
  Beneath the sheet of nightfall's dust.

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