Moonrise over Bassenthwaite

The August moon rises terracotta
A ball of rust born out of mountains
Umber, into the blue of evening.
 
So stained, surely it has travelled through the heart of earth
Since moon-set of this morning
To slide out now between the thighs of Raise and high Hellvellyn.
 
The breeze that earlier blew a curve of sails across the Lake
dies in these quiet moments; softly breathes  
the single lunar spinnaker above the range.
Casts off its colour in the seconds setting free,
So wing-furled ospreys sitting wakeful in dark trees
glare reflectively with yellow eyes
Following its silver pathway South, skimming the dark Lake of the skies.