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  • Writer's pictureTony Frobisher

Night-Morning Sky

Updated: Jan 14, 2023

Night-Morning Sky

There's moonglade on the water.

Ammil sparkles under the darkness,

Caught in the night shine

Of star pricked skies.

The night breathes in crystals and

Frost steps trace an even stride,

Past the undisturbed swans,

Huddled in cosy reed nests.

The small hours are at a close

And the faintest grey light

Emerges on the dawn horizon,

The sky coloured with reluctance.

Along the canal the water casts

Black reflections from

A patina of gossamer ice

And every exhalation shimmers.

Under the yellow glow of dulled

Street lights atop quiet bridges,

The bricks suck in the cold,

Absorbing the gelid night.

Soft sounds, a lightness of foot and

Gentleness of breath mixing with the

First stirring of psithurism,

The new wind waking tree and leaf.

Spindrift glints in the moonwake.

The chill path is no longer mine, now

Warmed by early risers and steaming joggers,

Silence broken by faint bells from dog collars.

A deep inhalation and the night pours

Into greedy lungs, coughing up cold.

I leave a few final footprints in the frost

The night is fading, there is hope of sun, apricity.

And I walk, ignoring the cold that

Remains a stubborn companion.

I walk, guided by the last moonlight,

Eager for the warmth of home.


It is getting colder and the frosts are starting to greet my early walks. There is something ethereal walking in the last pitch black of night, an hour from sunrise, while the world sleeps on, barely a sound except for your soft footsteps.

On a different theme, I love discovering words that have existed for centuries, have become archaic or rarely heard, finding their meaning and introducing them into my poetry.

Two new favourites in this poem

ammil: the glittering ice frost layer on leaves, twigs and grass

psithurism: sound of the wind in the trees

And an old favourite

apricity: the warmth of the sun on a cold day

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