A soft night of noises;

The house frets, restless,

I sit attentive to the kitchen’s wired shell

Fussing into silence.

 

Until there is just the elect lamp

The damp night air

A pallet of wine,

An earthiness and eucalyptus

Breathed from the darkness

Of the courtyard

Beyond the open door.

 

I attempt to write you long handed

Trying to conjure you back into my life.

 

But it’s alien; an incongruous ritual,

Nothing flows,

I come at it like a stranger

Like a freak at the ceremony,

One hand spasming into a claw,

Fathoming how the familiar turns estranged.

 

Would you have imagined me then,

Arched over a circular table,

Like a psychic sewing the darkness,

One eye expectant on the door?