---

David J. Kelly

trick of the night

After dark, a storm blew round the house, playing tunes on poorly insulated doors and windows. Our local foxes must have been excited—their gekkering calls intruded regularly on broken sleep. At one point, somewhere between presence and absence, there was the sound of horse’s hooves on the road outside. Strong, clear, unmistakable. Conscious thought rejected the notion as too fanciful for this suburban setting, yet my subconscious demanded immediate action, exploration. On a strange journey, I tore through curtains of ghostly gossamer and mental muslin to reunite mind and body. Arriving back at my pillow, ahead of dawn, I joined the wind and the rain, as their bold performance continued. Stealthily, if a little unsteadily, I crept to the window and scanned the empty road.

time and again
the brutal banality
of absence

---

About the Author

David J Kelly is an ecologist whose hobbies are best summarised as birds and words. His second (haiku and related forms) collection, Small Hadron Divider (Red Moon Press, 2020), was published recently. He lives in Dublin, Ireland.