I lean back against softened but weathered wood
and rest a tired arm upon a battered rest.
The wind is cool on my skin, flitting through
raised hairs that sway as mosquitoes
dare to land on my bare shoulder.

The night sky illuminated by the lamps that
stand tall in unison, moths bump against
their white hot smiles as shadows splay
across ground and human alike. A sigh
long enough to fill a room escapes my lips.

This is my night, under streaming moonlight
I am reborn again, my daily cocoon withers
into the ether, the low humming of distant
conversation from mouths covered
by the bustle of road and track.

I open my eyes, wider than aught, and grant
that mixture of lamp and moon to show
me the scene, small flecks of snow tumble
onto tree and stone and building alike,
no favouritism on show.