Middle Meadows Walk

By the clouds, by the stars
I am enclosed

Rachmaninov lifts me from the cement below
Whispering in my cold ears
His orchestra soars
Matching my magnified heartbeat

Half way down the path
My doppelgänger shadows smirk
I fear that I’ll turn around, hands in pockets
To see my own night-time figure peering back

My dark imaginings,
The gothic moon above,
Pulsing strings and deep blue dread
Beams down in Russian black

Everything crescendos
Until I feel my keys

And see the sodium street-lamps
Guide me to my door
With their golden, unblinking eyes

Moontide



with straining eyes,
she holds a simple glass
milk poured from the grey dark
walks outside to the blue dark

with burning ears,
she breathes in the pinpricks
they fade in blinks
everything still, a silhouette

with white skin,
she passes two hours by
sipped, swigged, taken
the glass is empty

with naked feet,
she sees a sky blushing itself awake
one hundred metres from
a better smudged yesterday