Remember Dundonald Street?

A ROOM IS STILL A ROOM

Dark wooden chair and wooden table

An empty bottle and empty glass

Incense, books and broken phone

Twilight sneaking

Peeking through open window

To see yellow walls

 wooden and warm, wrapt in dying sunlight;

To see dancing smoke

Curling on the air, folding on itself,

Twirling on and on…

To nought, to nil, to…

Night striding in.

Drawling music

Striding with the night

Arm in arm with the air – grey and blue and white –

Gliding over wooden chairs and wooden table

Sitting in the empty room, heavy and calm.    


Two steps to step to black table

through shadowed light,

To step to wooden chair

To sit with a heavy sigh

Cold crystals on the wind

Defeated daylight.


Plop

Plop

Rain again.

Still night, still wind

Still rain on shaking roof

Dim glow, yellow and blue

Candle standing in ceramic shoe

Ceramic shoe that she made.

Silence breathing.

Rain fading.

Shadows in corners still lurking.

Room gently spinning

Remembering dancing,

Dancing with the buzzing in his head.

They danced until the music stopped

– sca dap dap – stopped.

They laughed until the taxi

Dropped them off at the house.

They loved until daytime came;

Came in cool and happy and stained

their skin with its golden rays.

Sunshine

Stealing stealthily in,

Steps over dark, wooden chair

And wooden table

An empty bottle and broken glass,

Lifting the blanket night,

Parting its curtain – yellow and blue and white.

To welcome day and ease in light.

Brisk breeze, cauterizing pain

Pulsing hearts to one vein

Meet in love again.