The Terrace

The Terrace

In the day the terrace is a platform for the vista
it sings of a blue hill curving up like a wave
the valley a dark trough of smoke
puffed about with trees of verdant foam
and the roses carress brick and chide the ivy
Ah but at night
we step out of light and heated conversation
and the clack of the mundane
and stroll arm in arm
wrapped in cool perfumes
and the whisper of flown wings