October on dVerse.
UNDER BLUE ANCHOR
They were singing Barbara Allen. The fire was high.
Some eyes were closed with the weight of the tale;
others gleamed. All there were drinking or had drunk.
The windows ran with condensation. Rain fell straight
in the October night. I rose and threaded my way
to the door. From woodsmoke, I stepped into seaspray.
From the crossweave of the song, I stepped into the cry
of gulls. Sickle wings flashed and turned in the dark.
I sat on the wall and thought of home. I lifted my face
into the rain and thought of you and the children. All of you
asleep - your hair auburn-red over the counterpane,
their faces spellbound. And I whispered up the filaments
of the rain and out across the tenements of clouds
to where you all lay sleeping, thinking not to wake you
but to stand for a heartbeat at the corner of your dreams.