Swarthy sky slowly murders daylight,
A night when angels fly in two's,
wishes taste ten days old,
mist stays belly down, a beaten cur,
dripping its fear on dog-rose thorns.
A mausoleum of lumberjack’s debris
lies waiting to issue last rites.
An adventure for autumns final leaves,
before winters ermine gown smothers
sharp lines into soft melody.
On the boundary;
Buck-teethed fence peels summers painted innocence.
A missionary streetlight persists,
trying to enlighten heathen dark.
Throw-a-way confetti embellishes walkway,
red, white, blue psychedelic papier-mâché.
Remnants of vows passed by part-time Christians,
gargoyles give best wishes with sarcasm smiling.
Across the asphalt gulf;
Penguin houses, huddled against artic wind,
supporting each other, damning this Devil’s night
in vacuous noises that escape their vigil.
Past mellowed inn sign whose colours
are as sallow as customers,
the willow tree stands,
becalmed in cobble loaf stones.
Fresh-carved heart, isolated like failed love.
(A thief, long ago memories slip into today;
Of common women scrubbing life from door-steps,
of coal-dust-painted men fresh from the mines.)
alive only in nostalgic moments and
epitaphs of friends misplaced.