A long line of dark cloud dragged across
East Hill, thick above its full horizon,
pushed on from a spoiling Sidmouth Bay
to obliterate our blood moon’s rising and
sun-red show, clear and whole the night
before, this time its faintest hint in a blink
of an eye and most likely just imagining.

Directly overhead, plane lights blinked too
but bright, and there were stars everywhere;
tufts of almost black cloud could be seen
drifting across the evening’s otherwise all
still blue. There is so much that gets taken
away, and what’s left behind is yet another
long line of rolling and setting grey.