After the sun’s red ball
falls over the edge
of the world
the big empty
mind of the sky
deepens, deepens
until you are sucked
into its black
unforgiving – no shape,
no solidity, no certainty,
just the warm breath
of white frangipanni
floating on air,
the half-remembered voice
of someone loved
when love was wasted…
A backward step,
a long embrace
and the last door out
closes against you
and there is only the waiting–
the coin-toss, the crap-shoot
of a heart on the brink–
and barely there, barely heard
a nightbird, hidden
in shadow, hidden
in wind.