ON FRATTON MOOR
A summer night. No moon.
I step outside and close the door.
Trees breathe like sleepers. Soon
last lights will wither. Fratton Moor
and the long horizon will conspire
in the dark while the house behind
becomes a dolmen, barrow-still, entire
of itself. Staring hard, I’m blind
in the shadow’s heart. No rowan tree,
no hand before my eyes.
The moor moves like an inland sea
tugged inside the sky’s
black tide. This is oblivion.
Yet even here where night
is all, the high meridian
leaks: bleak as ice the acid light
of stars drips down through history,
etching a message from an alien place.
Confused, I cannot read the mystery
syllables. I drown in time and place
pic from: http://www.phototravels.net/england/yorkshire-limestone/
11:10:10 PM 
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