The Sails

The sails are not torn, but you See That they are tired and crest-fallen You see, my Monsignor The dusk has been beautiful And so day’s fading But it was weak and Unremarkable. Still The twilight ripples caught my eyes Still The last birds to their home trees Flying caught my ears Still The bat shrieks even just begun Were deafening Still Still Still I do not Expect this night To be a remarkable night But just a night of stars Of number relative Of whiteness relative Of burning relative As other nights in Other days. The cold Increasing and joining up With red nosed frost Increasing and increasing Further Up the walls of houses and Of bastions Still It be candidate for the Remarkable