A tiny scent of smoke

A tiny scent of smoke

pockets of distant fire work

and a chopper cuts the dark

into the rhythm of its blades

That melancholy celebration

is a feast of burning leaves

and its restless audience

wishes for light and dance

Seagulls panic

Lear beckons

The zoo disgorges its guests

Disturbing air on black sky

signals shocking freedom

Those who were attending carefully this night

will recall it as exposed as

a scary bend on the old road down

Colours make more sense now

and sleep obscures print

but the fading season fades

despite the call never to end

     Grant Duncan, 8.3.13