A night visitor stalked secretly outside my door

            Then slinked ‘round the house

                        With his back to the wall

                                    And made a white dog bark.

He puffed on Marlboro cigarettes.

            Peppery smoke twirled and vanished into air.

He tasted whiskey on his breath

                                    And his heart pounded when he squashed a butt under his boot.

Where the night visitor lurked,

            A gauzy mist draped the sky

With the moon and stars hanging within

                                    The night visitor didn’t notice he wanted blood not mood.

As is his nature, he wept as he crept –

            To a window before peering in.

                        With a hankering to eye bodies entwined

                                    Rapt in hope, in ache, who knows?

But when he looked he saw only a fire burgeoning inside –

            Echoing a warm glow reflecting onto a billowy chair –

                        Pooling over, flowing up a wall

On a tide of warmth.

From the fire (it seems) the visitor of the night was reborn!

            For I found him asleep in the cold,

Slumped in a heap holding in his arms

            A single star and the moon.

I set out for my caller

            A crumpet and jam

                        And steeped peppermint tea

To warm his frosted beard.

Then by noon –

When I brought him sardines and port –

                        Against the wall, were the moon and star cordially in his place,

            And a mere memory of my visitor and his night visitor face.