Going Home

 

Deep

like an ocean.

Moonlight dim

and silent.

Empty

like a dancehall

that was once ........

Not my heyday.

Forty years earlier,

cycling

in the early hours

through countryside

like a dream.

That memory

an exhibit

now;

collected,

preserved in a jar

with label’s print

barely legible.

Was carefree then,

pedalling

your way home;

happy countryside.

Happy life.

Unseen turn.

Exhilaration that.

Pumped up heart

huge with joy,

youthful expectation

unbattered.

Quiet suddenly.

In that countryside

a front wheel spinning.

The fish 

that is solitary

in the ocean

is essential to the stillness

that is around it.

Stillness

that is  a consiracy

waiting.

And the stone walls

suddenly 

stone-deaf to whistling.