Riding the hills
Wonder of reflected light
Shine on those
Dear near and far
Fast under the same spell
Momentarily struck
Out of the present
Into past’s stillness
 
Once on a summer’s night
Clouds – like
Grey cut-outs
Held in the trembling hand
Of a paper puppeteer -
Moved left to right
Across a proscenium of sky
The stage winged by trees
An old mill a backcloth
Of chimneys and angled roofs
The narrow bridge
Its river breathing
In a pit of darkness
 
The set on which our actors stand
 
In the space between heartbeats
The spirits of Basil and Peggy
Catch the silver orb
As it flies behind the clouds
And just like that falling star
Place it deep
In a pocket
Never to let it go
Never