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

Night Folds

only the sticky night tonight
waits for someone up before dawn
straining eyes
she pours milk in the dark
the stars blink above
so she looks with open palms
now that the glass has been finished
the piano lies dormant
deep, deep in the black
inside her bedroom
her hands fold
over a perfect leaf

I prefer red

I prefer red

to crumbs on the table that nobody sees

drinking, they don’t notice the pictures on the wall

or worse

The stars falling at 5pm

in the eyes of strangers outside.