you stand in a room
of timber & stone
with lantern aglow

& stove´s ruddy roar
as without the storm
tears at the window

presses the wall
screeches the door
& the roof howls

& though it trembles
it does not fall
you are almost alone

almost secure within
as you turn lantern
down & stove burns

thin & night comes
in through the door
through the window

out to black sky
black space & nothing
& you wait for morn

for lightning to come
with a new morn
as your hand writes

weaves in the light
the poem & moves on
concealing in overt

the covert pattern,
as a bush burns
in light & returns

to darkness within*
having danced
with the night.

* After Kavanagh Presences

Copyright Robin Ouzman Hislop 2004
All rights reserved

presence