Here Are Dark Things

Here are dark things.

Out of sight, heard at night;

the settling of old buildings,

enough death watch beetles

in the roof spars

to announce a massacre.

Here are dark things:

the wind’s song, notes too long,

the creaking of trees older

than dark, terraced houses

in the short streets,

where sunshine only visits.

Here are dark things;

a wish unsaid, someone dead,

the settling of old disputes,

too much rancour seething

in the tempo

of a still-beating heart.