In midnight's grasp you stand before
me naked on the dew swept lawn;
limbs frozen, stiff, misshapen,
pale joints stretched, your challenge sworn.
In lunar light, your shivering
ascent on the rusted rungs builds
anticipation, from the ground;
not stopping at the prospect's thrill.

Repeat ritual, your holy hour;
eyes in rapturous ecstasy;
pointing stiff your hands outward,
the perfect plus sign, plain to see.
You stand upon the sculpted edge,
the water beneath still and quiet;
the surface made of crystal, glass;
your eyes now close, cleansing the sight.

I wait below there, watching close,
and then give one cup-handed call:
'Go on!  I'll catch you if you want!"
The laughs ring out beside the pool.
But my smile fades within seconds,
my eyes lower, realise the truth;
the width and depth, the fatal flaws
the clear and ever-present proof.

Up there where the ashen branches
intersect with night and moon,
the crescent cycle's monthly wane;
paints flickering notions in the gloom.
These come and go now with the breeze,
and fuel all thoughts that would remain;
once solemn, still, beneath the trees;
now alive, tainted and profane.

That afternoon I climbed the stairs
at the old house, that stood before
renovations brash and new
took quick that room on the first floor.
The sealed entrance I walked right past,
but could have sworn I saw the door
and entered into that cold room,
found rubble fallen with the war.

And there in the quiet scullery,
the outlines of maids, prim, youthful;
and saw boys playing hide and seek,
sons of the portraits in the hall.
The sterile parlour, one eye closed,
I saw the mantelpiece widen;
in photos black and white I saw
my brave spectral companion.

Standing high, your eyelids flutter
and open, resigned with all grace;
inside the pupils cobwebs hang,
then extend, clasp the platform's space.
Inside a life full of regret,
locked within a family;
where everything felt and seen was
crushed by your time's society.

Reawakened in this night,
a shadow of your heart's desires;
on that platform of forty feet,
you could have jumped, to spite your sires.
But you did not, now always trapped
standing still, one foot raised deft;
as the cock crows, all vanishes,
the square of lawn all that is left.