The first of the night,
rooms darken to birdcall
as I lay down the day,
chorus to solo
to sleep under Halloween skies

I wake in a gust of wind
to dark unity,
one shadow,
riddles inseparable
from the hissing trees

the fist poised,
the crowd not yet gleeful,
I roll back the images
frame by frame
until they disappear

what freedom
in the seconds of the night,
I watch like a bird
as shapes shift and turn,
the world tucked under my wing.

© Tom McCulloch