Night Exit

Fatality on the track, so, close to midnight,

three of us are ushered to the Night Exit

sharing nothing but anger at cancellations.

Shut into a taxi, which grumbles out of town

before changing gear for A-Roads.

Sheep dazzled by headlights flock to ditches.

Charcoal trees stand equidistant, 

like estranged mourners beneath a solitary

back-silvered cloud.

I hawk-eye the racing meter,

pleased I’m not paying. The woman beside me

punctures our protest of silence -

she has never been up here before,

is visiting a friend who’s become remote.

We pass a porchlight left on like a promise,

slow for cross-roads,

this frail travelling coincidence nearly over.

Blackbirds screech down telephone wires

for territory and sunrise.

There are vigils of street lamps

at edges of fields

in varying darknesses of green

a few hours now until morning unblankets them

and they are redefined.