I wander through my house at night
With darkness all around;
My purpose keeping off the light
Is not to make a sound.
I listen to the ones I made
In times both young and old –
The strains of music that I played,
Teeth chattering with cold
And all the many varied cries
Of passion and despair…
It’s only then I realise
I’m sorry you’re not there.
And, not to lie alone in bed,
I wander through the house, instead.
Photo by Vidar Nordli-Mathisen on Unsplash
Nocturne
