Friday night - late,
table maybe 10 of us,
I couldn't rightly say.
Just ended up there.
And it seemed less strange,
with wine and talk and food on plates,
easy chat of this and that and faces put to names.
tore the sky and screamed above,
we could not see any light but we could hear the noise.
Like the blitz - I joked.
And sirens then,
rush and gone and rush again,
red at night and city lights and someone needing help.
Easy it could be to miss the look upon your face.
Clear and bright -
sudden, still and lit up eyes,
not from quick coincidence and not from nice surprise.
Quite a different sort of day on quite a different night.
And is that grief?
Carved with depth beyond belief?
Beauty there the likes of which I wish I'd never seen.
Friday London late at night,
pretty mother, pretty smile,
easy for the world to miss what's obvious to see.
Exhilarated sadness in a restaurant on a street.