Night walking out in open country
Under the unseen ceiling
Of a barrel-vaulted sky.
Dark, without a moon or stars,
As if the gods of night had thrown
A blanket over evening and earth,
Sealing off their silent sleep
From the moans of mewling mortals.
It has created, on this one night,
A curious combination of the beatific and banal;
Something not anticipated, and yet
Curiously fulfilling latent expectations.
I cannot see my feet, but only hear my footsteps:
four, five, six).
As the infinity of darkness draws me onwards
Towards the epicentre of this unconscious world
I gasp at the enormity of where
The black-hole irresistibility enfolds me.
How many more steps till I’m absorbed?
four, five, six?)
Somewhere in the distance
I seem to hear a voice that asks me who I am
And what presumptions bring me here.
I confess, out loud, that I don’t know the answer.
In fact, I have my doubts if anyone
Knew this happened in the night
And, with brutal honesty, even if they did
I doubt if anyone would care.
Turning, I begin to ask myself
If I ever can return
From these realms of quaint half-dreams
To where once-welcome morning
Calls me once again.
A passing hunting owl says not.