I'd thought it would be gradual,
falling, moment by moment,
changing the sky's colour slightly
but perceptibly. I'd thought I'd see it
coming, know it, like you know
you're moving into sleep, know the waves
are rising up, up, giving you time
to struggle, swim back
to the shallows. I'd imagined
creeping, softness, as mist
crawls over the hills, slowly, slowly,
burying the landscape,
or as snow descends, rapt
with its own silence,
and you stare into it,
feeling its cold thickening, your blood
winding down, the flesh
on your scalp taut.
It fell down crash and sudden as a shutter.
If you have any comments on this poem, Kitty Coles
would be pleased to hear from you.