Black bees/white noise
in the hollow trunk
of the old plane tree
below my window;

everything here so
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.