Nightlife

She awaits the black,
crow-black, cold
night of secrets in her
little house. Alone
there she can dream and
does, in her suspicious
midnight.

Her dreams awakening
senses well-secured
and fancies fitted to her
age. Playing without
pity, she will solicit
games from helpless
memories. Fondly she
gathers from the cut-
glass cabinet of time,
those treasures of deceit
and dusted despair - such
clandestine wealth
as she must keep hidden beyond
the sunset.

Each horror, each
wonder, she will happily
toy. And the silhouettes
marionette before the blank
walls of fate. But
her audience - a million souls
old - does not laugh.
December 1973
Essex University