Hazel Hall

White Day’s Death

Light that streams into the grass
In white rain, light that fills a tree
With radiance like steel, like glass,
Makes me catch my breath to see.

Down, down it pours in cold sun, thinned
To web of crystal; streak on streak
It falls, chastening the wind
And making every small bird meek.

Farther into the ground’s black space
Recedes earth’s little warmth; earth grown
Unfecund, now is made a place
Of brittle dust and stone.

Silver filters through my eye
Until my very brain is lit
With the glitter of sterility
That is both grave and exquisite.