The moonbeam probes the arrow slit.
Searches the ruined keep to find
Nothing within –
Not even a ghost.
The squadron of fish, in close order drill,
Flits to the right in perfect formation
Indifferent to the porthole
Of the sunken troopship.
Graffiti scrawled, the whitewash
Obscures the window of the empty shop
And the sign “EVERYTHING MUST GO”!
Echoes an eternal Truth.
Great holes grin vacantly
At the demolition site;
But a curtain still flutters
In the attic window.
So many windows – deprived of their purpose.
No in-peering voyeurs,
No net curtain busybodies slyly peeking.
Even the Saints staining the glass
Require an audience.
H.St.V.Beechey 1990