December Evening
Lighted by winter sunset, bitter blue
And smeared orange, when purple shadows lay
North and northeast, a shroud spread for the day,
We dug and scrounged, piercing the brittle sheath
To find the apples, tawny brown in hue,
Buried in the snow; then warmed them with our breath.
The first taste was strange wine, along
The quivering tongue, a sting that twitched and sang
In the jaw-muscles, a Moorish-gypsy tang;
The teeth ached in their sockets. Meanwhile
Night swooped. The Leghorns clucked their evensong
In the chicken-house, and settled in roosting file.