suitcase at your feet, splayed
before you.
At my door you rock a nightingale to sleep,
thumb and finger
stroking the neck

Vagabond.
take off your hat, show me your eyes
are they old or young, blue or black.

before you desert spreads.
thirsty Sahara, fire…
the nightingale tries a song,
but your fingers press tighter.

Vagabond
take off your cloak, I’m getting coldin an empty bed.

feathers scattered where you rest
your fair head, gloved fingers stroke
tighten
choke its song.

Vagabond
I can feel your hands

Vagabond
Remove the shackles and let there be song.

The ash has fallen,
Your reflection obscure, behind a gilded frame.
A face smeared, painted
in watercolour to disguise your tears.

Vagabond
let the nightingale sing, drown
out my crying.

Feathers burn a bitter smell,
Sun is setting, night
is rising, and still you caress.

Vagabond,
empty your suitcase,

come to bed
when only ashes
remain

and the nightingale is dead.