Through the ringing dark,
Shivering stars rain down
Arrows, dazzling showers of silver
To turn the steep night white.
Genuflecting in obeisance to those higher lights,
Small solar lamps, garden bling,
Flicker, dwindle, fade to silence
Beside the benighted lawn.
Breathless shadows blacken, lengthen
In the answering bleach of frost.
Over us, rising from the deep,
A chalk-sailed galleon—
Ghost-ship of the spectral moon—
Looms soundless, mute.
It leaves a white lace wake,
A fleece and glaze of hoarfrost
Across the grieving grass.
Midnight. Moonlight. Earthlight.
© Lizzie Ballagher