Night

The sun was setting behind me already
As I crossed the river
And climbed the road
Up onto the Common.

It was March and the days
Were still short.

I stopped.
Behind me, back down across the river,
The air was quiet and still.

When I had the tent up, it was dark.

A full moon came out, and I could see,
Out beyond the heather, the sea, far off.

In the cold tent, I ate bread,
Eight miles from home.