With the click of the door closing,
The laughter and the clink of glasses
I face the shadowed lawn,
In tidal grey and scattered silver.
Pulling my collar up, and,
Pushing my hands down,
Deep into my pockets,
I crunch down the driveway
As if crushing ice cubes beneath my feet,
Until I reach the street, long emptied and dark,
And now shuttered.
A sharp silence swirls
Like my misty breath;
A press of ghosts at an invisible bar.
Then looking up,
Through frosted glasses,
I see a perfect slice of lemon moon
In a cold, gin-clear sky.
And I laugh.
I will be away all next week, but I’ll reply to any comments before then and, of course, when I return.