A quiet breath, like horses galloping
The dark air is heavy, the night closing in.
There are thoughts at the edges
Hanging off the branches of the wind-battered oak,
Tottering with the walls of the old wooden shed,
Dripping from leaves and in droplets that run
In rivers down the lane-
And then there's the rain.
Footsteps fall like the closing of a tomb
And the words 'Don't go...'
Round the empty room.