Poetry

Out at Night
 
Open
the door to a wild night
where
wind swishes in trees,
reach
around for winter coat
I
thought was now at rest.
And
so into this raw dark night
where
trees bend and creak,
and
the boisterous wind gusts,
with
borrowed cold fingers,
pinch
apples in the cheeks
and
a numb chill in the bones.
Buffeted
by this wall of air
whose
roar of silent noise
dances
with last year’s leaves
leaving
grit entwined in hair,
till
it is time to return indoors.
 
David
Gould © 8th March
2011