Falling ’cross the field and forest,
Shines through trees and drapes, and no rest
Will be mine again tonight.
Cool white,
Fading ev’ry other colour,
Seems to make the world much smaller,
And much nearer to my sight.
Hunt-rite,
Freeing all my pent-in power,
Sends me run as swift from tower
As an eagle in full flight.
Bone-tight,
Forming new my frame and motion,
Sears along nerves like a potion
Given by a witch in spite.
Prey-fright,
Fresh from seeing my approaching,
Soon is ended by my poaching;
Thus the mercy of my might.
Daylight:
Flowers deck my dining table;
Sit wherever you are able;
Venison’s my cook’s delight!
— 7 Feb. 2026
[The Suno AI has composed and performed a tune for this song:]
In 1984's "this is not a poem", I stated: "something besides the writer is sharing the writing / in a sense the poem is wroting itself" — that felt very true in this case. In the middle of the night, as I pulled my blanket up to my chin, moonlight through a gap in my bedroom curtain struck the back of my left hand, and before I could even get up to write anything down, the first stanza was complete in my head, demanding I stay true to that format. The second stanza came quickly and easily. Somehow I felt "Daylight" might start the final stanza, but what in the world would rhyme to start the stanzas in between? There weren't that many suitable two-syllable words rhyming with moonlight, daylight, and cool white, to tell a story with! And then where would they *take* the story? As it turned out, not someplace I'd the least bit expected when I got up.
The primary instrument is an archlute, played in Phrygian mode, the sometimes deeper notes compatible with a sometimes growling singer.
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