The sky was pink that evening.
blotches of an adamantine brittleness
spread slowly all across the Cheshire plain,
all over the acres and acres of rich pickings.

The quarter moon waxes to the right
behind my back, and out of sight 
a grove of black,spidery trees
squeezes into the skeletal-freeze.

Putting me in mind of a MR James story
of an unrequited remonstrance
or an undeserved inheritance 
the truth stands awry
on its back legs and barks today.

As sparks catcha fire in this mind of mine,
a fire quenched by one isolated man who cannot imagine
any really new New Year's Day
and I'm so sad to admit that to myself
that I sob and sob
for all that's lost and cannot be found.  .