The fire in her eyes

The dark stairs,

that ascend into the house

passing the photos and huge windows,

are silent, golden timber, like the spine that holds the home erect.

For a score of hours I have sat in the Autumn dark

waiting, listening to the clock on the table in the hall.

The door closes but not before a gust of wind

peeled off from the cold street

rushes into the room and moves the newspaper off the table

and onto the floor.

She is there

and she stands for a moment without speaking.

I have seen sad things in my years

deaths and departings, destruction of order

but I knew her face would be sadder still.

The universe expands, stars are flung deeper into the dark space

everything grows further apart

she runs up the stairs, I listen to her footsteps, I hear the door close,

it echoes

I long to feel the Autumn wind again, I wished a window to fling itself open,

I want to hear the the leaves on the street.

I rise and run upstairs. I fling the door open and steady myself

I expect her to shout abuse.

But she is silent, she is naked, lying on the bed.

A novel carelessly open on her stomach.


My debut novel will be released on June 24th with Pen Name Publishing.

Visit Amazon to preorder your e-book version or wait for the Hardcover.



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