The storm passed though electricity flickered
and stirred-up color had yet to settle
At the window of the rental with my life half-packed
in shadow I was unseen by them
the city foxes who must always worry
beds unmade door kicked in more than once
They investigated the fallen beech
its roots exposed like the apartment
of somebody who has died
unable to tidy up first
Stronger trees asleep on their feet
nothing more they could do
and the grass flattened under the book of water
Storm Dennis threw at England
My host would write of me online later
it was as though no one had even been there
Dusk that untrustworthy time
when holes appear in the civic fabric
and insights are expected to emerge
Characters left over from the séance
tape recordings played through a telephone
double exposures two CCTV photos
century-old police sketches
when a half-door opened at the end
of a darkening corridor they
ran through it
