Last Night (Poetry)

(For Ursula)

I imagine your last night
went according to routine —
quite ordinary, in fact —
no sudden blinding flash of insight
nothing to suggest
deep significance — nor hint
of the event to come.

I imagine you nightgowned
and sipping a hot drink
with a pad upon your knee —
a line or two — some thought
you needed to jot down —
a reminder or a poem —
perhaps a bit of both.

I imagine those final acts —
the locking up of doors
fresh water by your bed
and a book you’d partly read
with its marker like a tongue
sticking out, your slippers neat
and waiting on the rug.

I imagine your last dreams —
how they took you far away
’though you travelled wearily
and the ticket was one way
no alarm can wake you now
and dawn will never come
for, for you the night goes on

and on and on
and on...