From cloister
he walks,
the black robed
monk,

pausing in the aisle
of the abbey church
to genuflect;
stopping,

he gazes at us,
then into
the bell tower
to ring the bells

for Compline.
I watch
as the red altar light
flickers

into semi dark
of the abbey;
remembering she
who kissed

in another dark
with warm
kissing lips.
The bells break

the silence
of the evening chill;
one by one
the monks enter

at their own pace,
hooded
in black robes,
each to their own place.