Samhain fast idle

Soft cones of vapour (bass-notes)
Tambourine, gently shaken
Smell of unburned fuel, burned oil
Stifled in an air of moist decay
Asphalt browned and matted
Seated on a concrete step, coat unzipped
Watching tread rotating
Stones embedded
Black as underworld and wet
Driven by viscosity
Idling, mournful of lost days
Sympathetic mirrors
Dressed in condensation
Tremble on their stems
Tachycardic tacho senses winter
Caught in Samhain’s spell
A corner of eternity
Beneath the trees