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Darkness comes out of the ground
and climbs inside the trunks of trees.
It seeps along the branches and the boughs
into each twig and leaf, each bud and flower.
Slowly, imperceptible as time it spreads
a black ink, double dye clouding pure water.
The chill darkness leaks into the evening air
that soaks it up like litmus, blotting paper
until it steals all colours from the sky,
and only crystals of dried-up day remain, like stars.
By
James Kirkup
