In Scotland, February

light is glimpsing out from its winter shell,

spreading brightness as a trapdoor falls.

It’s 5.15 pm in a snowy Tuesday

gloaming that is diligent and tender.

Trash is piled beneath empty train seats

and, outside, a river turns West to salt.

Birds and wind drop to quiet evening sun

and, on, our train plunges into a tunnel

blacker than a night has ever known

but knowing, also, light advances, grows.