Do you remember that transparent tile on the roof
Through which the cloudless pass of a
September night we watched, as the wedge of
A shimmering torch streamed through to that room
And on the wall made shadows of a gargoyle and a dwarf?
If memory permits and if I remember right
I said such a surreal scene ought to be
Preserved in light. The meaning of “surreal”
You asked, chose it not to get;
Dissolved the silence that we’d ought to bed.
That night, you later said, was torture and pain
For to shut out the lunar screeching there
Was no curtain or blind. But, the excess of the scorch
In that mercurial rain makes memory a white haze
With very little to remind.