Cold stone floor
And withered leaves
The night was brooding
O’er the wind

Flames were weary
Mist all gathering
Caught in twilight
Breaths all thin

A web of dust
Laid on stone
The spider coughed
And crawled alone

The stars were crowns
Waiting while watching
The leaves swinging
In the night whispering

Blue the new moon
And bitter his song
Sung by the gulls
Or the owls on the bough

I don't know you
but I see your face, in black and white
and brown and grey
and yellowed paper,
torn, frayed
I don't know your name
But your pen has etched words between pages,
half-read, half-wondered,
smoothly curlicued
Hello there!
and Muskaka Avenue

I don't know you,
but there are weddings, deaths
communion, baptism,
flowers

I don't know your name
but there's someone smiling
up from brittle pages,
and a tiny television set, brand new
and black and white,