A Summer Night

A Summer Night. A Bergman movie had an old man running in the hall senseless, gripped by an irrational fear of death. I sat by the bed pearls of sweat ran down my butter coloured body, summer, but all can hear is the ticking of the kitchen clock, to witness a day’s passing gave me no pleasure this insistent march towards timelessness and there is nothing to hold on, a moment’s respite, or love to assuage the vortex’s relentless terror. Dog awakes, hears steps too light for my ears, a night visitor and I’m alone and without a god. No, not here, the cur loses interest goes back to sleep. Night is an enemy; the shift is nearly over, I walk out on the terrace and wait for the day.