They are wheeling
in the cloud crowded sky,
celebrating a departing sun
or dancing at its wake.
It’s a come-all-ye hootenanny
but I am earthbound
and cannot reach their dance-floor,
remaining merely voyeur to their extravagance.
They do not sing, their dance is silent
as is the sun in its closing
and the accompanying colour-burst
heralds the coming silence of colour
and the resurrection of stars.