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--- G I L E S   G O O D L A N D

O the night was hungry and silence clung
and the houses edged a bruise 
that infects all neighbourhoods in time.

O the clouds were in pieces and the sun unset vicinities under the weight of observation.

O the people still skittled about the park and the forest was stiffening ducks, turning them the colour of lichen.

O words massed into some ponderable horse and the moon apportioned the streetlight to outbid the stars.

O the roomlit marigolds crumpled and under earth's shadow with its thick nib night struck out another day.

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