It’s darker in here than out there.
At dusk
Light fades quicker in stale air.
And screams
Of kids that are not me, or you, or goats.
At last
Are quietened with milk and night-time prayers.

It’s darker up here than down there
At home
Where streets are the reserve of far-away.
At rest.
And lights are dimming while they pray
As day
And they, go in to rest.