Travelling at night
the town is closed
I embrace the silence of its pavements,
a night breeze my companion
in stealth
the scent of yesterday’s traffic rising
I gaze at black windows of houses,
impervious to the streetlights glare
no sound on the air, except air,
walk towards far ends of streets
fading into dark
I, with them
my feet the solitary footfall,
like a lover’s ghost I turn back
as grey begins to outline
the border
between
the hours
Night Voyage
I died last night,
silent implosion, warm as summer nights, gathered me up,
gliding out towards the reaches
inside unbroken waters,
swung in utero, its close sanctum, starless as the ocean,
how deceptive the glancing blow, an imperceptible alteration as time’s frame split and became the soothing warmth that is oblivion,
mindfulness out of mind, that rounded sleep, so prettily imagined,
folding me into small stuff,
angels I had known before in transient spaces, now became guardians of my passage, encircling me,
parting became acceptance, karma completed,
a singer of tales, the songs played in my head,
one a ballad of a gypsy boy and a rich man’s daughter,
another of a ghost ship and a demon lover,
a soft lament for lost chance,
I sank, waist high, warmth between my toes, disappearing into a void,
following the line of pale between the green above me,
lay down, the years dissolving,
light behind curtains, blushed into folds, my eyes travelling between their valleys,
a door, imperceptibly ajar.
Jenny is a published writer of poetry and prose at present working on short fiction. She also makes abstract ceramics. Graduating from the Royal central School in London some years ago, she followed a career in the performing arts and has walked in many worlds. The juxtaposition of life in all its cadences, landscapes and voices, always inspires her. Jenny’s work appears in several anthologies and journals.
