EVENSONG

At sundown in summer,
After the day’s work is done
The brown land quiet
The heavy soil no more
Turned and broken
By tractor and plough,
At dusk after the loss
Of the day-making sun
The air uncrossed by the flurry
And flap of hurrying wings
Through a grey stillness
Out of dim branches
Hectic birdsong breaks
From singers unseen
The delicious fruit
Of the day’s long durance.

In the proud singing
Of their unique songs
Those sunmade bodies
Dissolved in the dusk
Now take on a second and substantial shape
Creating at last
The fading earth’s first world,
Frail, and fearless of the night.