Cold, dark, silent, empty
Owl tealight and blue Delft pot radiate frost
to make room air shiver.
Shag pile icicles bit feet and above,
entombed in bitterness an anaglypta wall,
witnesses wedding bed sweats congeal.
Place is how winter fields feel and
where fire smiled, ash and ashen faces refrigerate.
Welcome mat invisible and
Bless This House is blind.
Only a cherry internet light is on,
keeps illumination to itself,
too weak for awareness of killer or thief or
bright news which is left next door.
I cannot see roof or well trod floor and
where snuffed candles entertained, snuffed out waxen colour drains.
Clock holds breath, fingers shtum,
kitchen fridge refuses to hum because
feedback is unforthcoming, answers withdrawn.
Our anniversary radio stalks off the air.
Ripped off but I do not hear the tear and
where poppet’s carpet footfall came, no muffled treads remain.
Even dust flees, taking skin so
sheets and covers stay pristine.
Despair ransacks wardrobes but
bailiffs of the heart have already been
to see my ever present pet evacuate a crowded tower.
Water deserts pipes and
where power escapes, unoccupied hope slopes off.