Not turning the light on
As I wake in the dark,
the neighbour’s son returns with his girlfriend
before spending what’s left of the night in her arms.
I’ve not forgotten teenage insomnia, day-dreaming words
into poems not daring to switch on a light to write them
but silently reciting them to memory.
It’s your absence that keeps me awake now
and I still don’t turn the light on. I like the dark:
light shows dust gathering, brings obligations.
In the dark, I can imagine the bedroom door open.
(previously published in Under the Radar)