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.