My square of window
weeping stars in the blue night,
You asleep upstairs.
I lie awake alone
Breathing in time with you.

Doors clicking softly
In the midnight breeze.
Dark curtains swishing,
Soon to be filled pink
with soft morning light.
The sky cut neatly
By the window frames
Into tiny portions
Like blackberry pie
waiting to be eaten.
Albertine roses
Under the sill tap
The cool cement wall
In their wire moorings,
Moved by the night wind
And their own silent growth.

La Croute. St. Ouen, Jersey. 1967