Carol Ann Duffy


Love is talent, the world love’s metaphor.
Aflame, October’s leaves adore the wind,
its urgent breath, whirl to their own death.
Not here, you’re everywhere.
                                              The evening sky
worships the ground, bears down, the land,
yearns back in darkening hills. The night
is empathy, stars in its eyes for tears. Not here,
you’re where I stand, hearing the sea, crazy
for the shore, seeing the moon ache and fret
for the earth. When morning comes, the sun, ardent,
covers the trees in gold, you walk
                                                      towards me,
out of the season, out of the light love reasons.