Out til late at night
Or early in the morning
That paradoxical time
When some voice inside
Sensibly suggests it’s time
To go to bed.

But not before the drive
Back through empty streets
And back to the distinction
Of one’s own company
Such that it is hard to say
That it is mine.

Such that the day has been one
Of recovery and breakfast at midday
Reading on the couch glad
For the closeness of the cat.
The night so quick but the feet
Did walk in misty rain.

And the evening breathing
With the sound of crickets
Outside the whirr of the desk fan.
Roaming through the range
Of what I like and don’t like
By reading poetry.

28-2-2016