Dozing While It Rains. Poem by Miki Byrne

Dozing While it Rains.

In the half-land when sleep has crept close
but consciousness still lingers. Images scissor.
There is a sigh of hem against stocking.
A wisp of blue smoke. A hand holds a cup,
little finger crooked in tea-time elegance.
And downstairs an old man shuffles.
The cardigan is holed. Wool worming
out of frayed edges. His pat liver-spotted.
He bends his neck to gaze into a meagre grate.
Picks up a faded photograph and listens
to the birds circling as he remembers the noise.
Outside, reflections in a silver pavement
flutter against passing eyes.
rain tumbles to glimmering windows
and the sleeper turns over, to the rhythm of the fall.