In the barmkin

In the barmkin hushed unsleeping

Atop the battlements, amid the flames

Sentries prowl, fog enshrouded:

We fear the foe without a name


The foe we fear but never see

Or fear to see it, conversely

Hovering, always, apparently

Close as breath. But can it be?


Well, is there anything out there?

Shaking in the silence, how we forget.

To spring the trap door down below

And climb up out our oubliette.

— September 19, 2017