On this my first night here the house bristles with life around me,
I listen to competing calls, whose unfamiliar tongues command.
Streets kid’s playing football, Manchester and Arsenal below The Mount,
The fragrant waft of Orange Groves, my senses overload.
A red sky wipes itself to black, Cross and Crescent bejewel the night,
feline skip invaders pick the flesh off lesser lives,
they see me come and slow my step, but they belong, not I,
unflinching from their well marked place, it’s I who pass them by.
Yesterday I left my mark
today my mark breaks virgin ground,
I lay my head at last to rest
and drink in every new-heard sound.
On this my last night here, the house settles still around me.
I listen to the street with its familiar hum,
the foot-fall of people I’ve never seen but know instinctively
as they pass then move along.
Silver shards of moonlight pierce the slatted blinds
my friendly wild eyed fox sits beneath the window,
does he hear me breathing? imagining his movement,
he skips and slinks back into the starless forest.
Tomorrow I’ll be far from here
in a velvet seamless night,
my bed an empty impressed tomb,
My soul flying towards some other light.
On the brown bracken hills blown and stripped dry
lived beasties and birdies all under one sky,
they scratched and they fluffed their feathers and furs
though they knew they belonged they knew not where they were.
While below in false order lived beasts who stood straight
who fenced themselves in behind stone-wall and gate,
they had names for their buildings their streets and their towns
they had rulers and workers and faces with frowns.
And it seemed to the beasties and also the birds
that they lived just fine without borders and words,
so they cherished the soil and they worshipped the air
and they all lived together without knowing where.
Not a single pin hole pierces the sky
tonight its black as the flat-topped-sea
the gulls have migrated to where fishing boats lie
and the harbors a haven if only to me
There’s a hum from the tavern and a welcoming glow
it pumps at right-angle’s the beer in full flow
though not grape or the barley could sate me tonight
for its you that I thirst for to bathe in your light
As the cold of the wall creeps to my core
I long for the mornings reprise
and give thanks for the days the two of us saw
and throw curses at nights such as these