I sit in the window alone

above the darkened garden

and the lamplit streets

that lead to the far away hills.

The lamp behind me

casts my own shadow down

onto the empty lawn.


A passing stranger looks up,

hurries on and is gone.

A father carries his daughter home.

She droops on his shoulder, asleep.

The only sound is the traffic

and a party and laughter,

distant, along the street.


The moon is hidden by billowing cloud.

The stars up above are unseen.

Looking down to the gloom of the garden

I take comfort

in only the smallest things –

a frail light that shines on apple tree leaves

and the sweet, gentle autumn air.




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