Against The Night Poem by Nan Williamson

against the night

1.
It's late:
things glow and burn
lit by crimson canopies
of dripping trees.
Leaves cluster, wet. Gold
layers gleam against dark stone.
Burnt-orange apples
hang from flowering crab.
Robins rustle in,
gorge while they can.
Virginia Creeper, still-green
veins pulsing, clings to brick,
burns hectic red.

2.
In a Munch painting,
he with ringed eyes,
hollowed out and haunted,
flees
the house.
Red Virginia Creeper drips
from the empty windows; shroud-like
shapes and headstones
block the door.

3.
One night in San Miguel,
we watched Pilar Lopez
ignite the stage,
old head held high,
smiling defiantly, red-mouthed,
dance the bulería
with lightning turns, toes and heels
thunder over the sound of clapping palmas.
Duende has her, dancing in a sea of fire;
Whirling faster, she fans it
with her flickering skirt.
Flashing her mantón,
she taunts the night.