I almost didn’t walk
The night was damp and raw
That pressing dark that
Holds you to your house
Like stepping in would be a chance
At first I was Pinocchio
And swallowed in the whale
But then the slightest gleam of wet
And silvery way emerged beneath my
Feet and I was drawn into the soft
Vignette of streetlamp meeting rain
I was alone in name alone
And night became my aura like a frame
And painted me in watery tones into
A swirled Van Gogh
Or shimmering Monet


Sara Mathews       November 2015