The almost-morning, almost-dawn
Brushing blue cold from dark,
Staring out the wilder, furious stars,
Stalking night with gull-shrill cries.
At Munlochy Bay the wolfish grey
Grows steady silver, steady bright
Snapping teeth in jealous bid against
The clipped perfection of the moon.
By Kessock Bridge the blush of day
Runs sleek against the timid pink,
Runs deep with tinted, fierce intent,
To keep new dreams from breaking From breaking on the fractured light