Flying Saucers

Since the blinds are a little complex
to drop
the cords
wrapped and tied in Gordian knots
the windows though black
are
reflecting the room
the table is a medieval monks tomb
in stone
its grain
a celtic cross
the cards are shaped like bunting
for a Coronation or a wedding
or they are washing
hung
in a watercolour
of Naples
done by a Victorian Lady Watercolourist

The Christmas tree on its last evening
has little blue lights carried up it
by Lilliputian Alpine climbers
climbing the Matterhorn
or the Eiger
or a procession of pilgrims
with torches
singing of the Infants birth
and the red lights around the bottom
are the bars full of people
mulling apres ski
smelling cinnamon and cloves
But at the top
the downlights hang
like a flock of flying saucers
caught on the hop
waiting for us not to look before they move
or they reflect a path upside down
leading out into the night like a runway