DUSK.

Between the hanging hour of rising dusk

I watched the urban wildlife unfold,

like the working cogs of night into day

slowly blending into temporary shade.

A war torn fox gazing with vinegary eyes

at the raised window pane blemished with breath,

stains of broken rain scatter the truculent street

where dewy air withers on dead willow.

This emerald vivarium

tossed jigsaw of woodlands at dusk,

mossy hallway of wild desolation

a half brick wilderness of hidden looks.

I then count the hours of nomadic dream

feel the candle in my eyes start to burn,

I shall sleep when the wildlife shuts its eyes

camouflage myself from prying daylight.

MJ DUGGAN.

Published in ‘Graffiti’ poetry magazine.