Fever Ray—Keep the Streets Empty For Me
November Evening Quatrains
Here’s what happens.
The planet spins into night.
The wind blows leaves round in a circle
under the stars’ ageing light.
Over the harbour,
the darkness hiding its white
wings, turning round in aimless circles,
a gull cries out in its flight.
The streets stay empty
in the long hours when the bright
moon is liable to press its pale circle
into flesh, spreading frost-bite.
All sounds get pitched higher
now—and that gull out there might
never be consoled till the flexing circles
of its throat close up tight.
Water swells, changes
to lacy friezes of starlight
sculpted round black holes galaxies circle
where all things fall into night.