The whispers of the night – the sound of rain,
cars on wet streets, that hiss as they go by.
A growl of breeze, and something in the sky
that throbs and passes. Streets away, a train.

And in the flat things creak with no-one there
to touch them. In the kitchen, it’s a plate
that shifts and makes a sound. It’s very late
but outside someone’s shuffling on the stair.

They slam a gate; it’s on another floor.
A bird. A cat. A switch turns on and off.
Perhaps downstairs. A sudden brutal cough –
someone’s unwell. Soon, fast asleep, I’ll snore.

Gentle mysterious noises that we hear
awake asleep. It’s silence that we fear.


About rozkaveney

Middleaged, trans, novelist, poet, activist
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2 Responses to

  1. cmcmck says:

    That first verse? T S Eliot (who influences me too :o)

    I like this one a lot!

  2. stevegreen says:

    I really like this, Ros.

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