Sunset in Oxford

This far north the post-coital glow of the sun is gold

as it pulls back and sighs,

thin clouds like cigarette trails and the contented

smile of the hills.

The morning is cold blue,

and full-fogged with dreams of leafless trees.

The girls at this address are gold, the boys are blue;

consequence of the direction we live,

which half of the house we choose,

which time of light invades our rooms

(even at night I have an amber moon).

Gold sinks behind the smile and

we say “Goodbye, until tomorrow.”