The drowsing hour shuts its eyes, but
slowly, so things fade to dark.
Twilight’s dove-grey doors swing shut.
You light a candle-lantern. The drowsing dog

sits up from his shallow snooze to bark,
once, at the pulse of waxen light. Across the lawn,
the house sparrows sleep so hard,
they might as well be dead till dawn.

When the first wash of light overhead
wakes the house sparrows again,
they who slept like the dead, at dawn
will begin to call, I’m up! And then

from the eave, the branch, the yard,
the opening beak of early day will alert
whatever’s got a beating heart.
The revenant hour starts its singing part.