I sneak out of the kitchen door
to check for neighbourly fence infringements
under cover of unembarrassed darkness.
I keep my head down to avoid the dog shit.
A red tablecloth flaps damply on the line
like snared wildlife and I look up.
The night is crisp and sharp and black,
and behind the slow parade of glinting planes
the white still lights of stars make shapes,
the last fragments left on a broken string
when the old circus tent was blown away,
when the great pier crashed into the dark sea.
28th Feb 2014