Apparition

And then, the imperceptible change of light
drapes my shoulders,
nestling like a virgin’s veil.
Its hazy, muslin, twilight patterns dance
before my earnest, narrowing eyes.
So, wandering and wondering
amongst the dimming creams,
and charcoal greys of dusk,
forty years just fall away.
He is here again,
and I know it’s time and turn to go.
But not before his ruddy hand taps lightly
on my sleeve, and strokes my neck.
“Time for home son, leave them here”.
And creels creak, reeds snap,
a distant whistle,
and I am alone once more.
The evening’s dampening aperture left
to heavily lie on my nostalgic gaze.

© Graham Sherwood 2007/8