Dave Bonta's poem is only two short lines, but it holds a whole scene. Someone is lying alone, perhaps in bed or on the ground, and looking toward a north shore as night closes over it. The shoreline doesn't simply disappear in the dark; it is "taken," as if the night were a quiet thief or a creature that reaches out and claims the land piece by piece.
That word choice gives the poem its feeling. There's no panic here, but there's a sense of loss and surrender. The speaker doesn't say how they feel, yet the title does a lot of work: "Lying alone" makes the darkness seem to belong to the speaker too. As the shore is swallowed, the speaker is left with nothing but their own stillness.
The mood is hushed, solitary, and a little melancholy, though also calm. It reads like a moment of watching the world fade out, and accepting it.