Nightwalkers

Moon a milk stain, spilled on a woolen sky
Blanket night time, warm, spun dry
Evening breathes with a soft-from-washes sigh
Felt tip branches scribble leaves
Cotton lane, lamplit puppet shows by trees
Rest, under the All Saints here lie knuckle roots
Stood over two Okement boys, elm branches grow
Walking on, through swashy grass, beyond the stream
Forever, two boys leave
Church Meadows under lamplight, but what I prefer
With Duncan after midnight, and what I prefer
Is missing it