nocturne 

strands interwoven at twilight
amber at eve in a braid

we used to tell stories at bedtime
impossible stories we made

such a strange dance we were dancing
a dance we were taught by the sea

to whom do you wave on the shoreline
to whom do you wave if not me

devotions

a back road
a side road

a square in a circle of trees
a litany among the leaves

secular prayers sung at eve
in quiet moments

mariners chasing lost dreams
on hidden oceans

vespers from some little cosmos
devotions

only at dusk

the garden slopes down
towards the brook

and the little wooden bridge
to the summerhouse

where at dusk they met
and found acceptance

only at dusk

before supper
a hand of cards

turning in

at dusk
they found their

gradient
there all that time

but obvious
only in the half light

Evensong

Maybe we don’t have souls after all
but just die like dogs,
howling behind fences
in the dark.

Let me go empty,
falling without grace upon white sheets,
crisp and perfect,
positioned for effect.

Let me fall empty,
with a cool calm shiver of release,
upon an un-creased bed
at evening.

Let the dog bark freely,
his evensong resound,
and sing no song of praise for me,
no song that’s heaven bound.