Black bees/white noise
in the hollow trunk
of the old plane tree
below my window;
everything here so
familiar/unfamiliar,
or is it that I have forgotten
the way moonlight
can skewer the bedroom
through a shutter crack,
the crepitation of tyres
over sand-crush and pebbles,
the discreet/indiscreet dawn
departure of a lover, the illusion
of being unseen, thinned dark
poor cover when dogs snarl
as they doze and a streak of
black cat sleeks from under
the gangling lavender, un-
leashes a memory,
an out-of-body déjà-vu,
impossible to capture
from the widening delta
of the past.