And there again across the bay, firing
its silent cannon, training its bullseye aim
as dusk settles wide on a low horizon.
Tonight’s rolling carol of joy and regret,
of the monotony that has filled my life.
There is a brittleness to this plastic chair,
my ring finger ageing like the others.
That light returning as an animal thief—
certain, deft, timeless—bound to code
and station, neither cruel nor kind,
the only comfort I seem to trust.
Anonymising me by its remote repeat
now that perjury is a tiresome friend,
turning like a wheel in a tank of fat,
labouring until the motor burns.
A darkness to remind me of every dark,
but that exact, bright shining note.
The call—I am and I am and you are—
from a welcome, unentitled god.