Written In The Dark (Poetry)

The hours thicken, semi-solid, hang
an owl-hoot penetrating curtained lands
as cloud-drift moves the scenery of stars
places shadows, spots the long-necked trees
mute as extras crowding from the wings.

A bit-part wind blows through — a whistle-stop
barging faceless, travelling with leaves
a dog fox barks his nightly share of lines
their dialogue unravelling the plot
in secret acts imagined, never seen.

A hawk moth thuds on glass, its body drops
a victim of invisibility
below, mole-blind and urgent scurryings
unworded where the dark is litter-strewn
with messages in musk and shards of sound.

Scent and instinct lure, mislead and warn
unfolding dramas playing end to end
unscripted — no director — night unrolls
frog-notes thinned to margins of the mind
the half-dreamt cry we know but cannot name.