An oblong of pale light
at curtain’s edge, a
shifting frame.
It is a window of hope;
I am darkness in the night;
shuttered and cosseted
with febrile spun mind.
I watch street’s light shift,
oblong’s lines drawn anew –
and I am in that frame,
a release, a gasp of air.
Far away, sounds of the night:
a scooting car, a whimper.
Here there is nothing;
grey lines on a wall; the
pain of eyes wide open
That ‘hurts’. John.
shuttered and cosseted
with febrile spun mind.
A maddeningly fine telling of the night!