PSG beat Real Madrid. Hurrah.

PSG beat Real Madrid. Hurrah.

Hopefully, it will be a little warmer and less wild.

Hope is a parlour trick

I think I have its measure

Only to wrestle with it

Half the night

I have followed in its shadow

Trying to unmask

The way of it

Find the secret

Of its aspect

Its grand illusion

Reflected back

In the hall mirror

I thought I heard it laugh

It may have been a cry.

Sometimes I fall

Stumbling over the simplicity

Of its appearance

The jolt brings me back

Into myself

Buttering toast.

Pancakes

Are best served

With honey,

I can make them with my eyes closed.

The air whispers

With uncertainty

Just before the lights go up

Night watchmen

Melt back into the walls

Death hangs

A black flag

Out of the window

Angels are never merciful

But their timing

Is sometimes off

As they clamber

From one roof to the next

Slipping and sliding

Over the loose tiles,

Winging it.

I have seen them

Through the bottom

Of a glass

When they believe

I’m not looking.

I never close my eyes

Until I’ve seen the last of them

Go up in smoke.