The visitors

 
 
Looking at lilacs as the hour of midnight comes near and
like my poetry, unclear, but I write,
 
And on the podium where opium is a pipe dream
I lean into the light that I see.
 
Me!
screamed someone I knew and
it was me.
 
Always damn daffodils
always them blooms
 
I take rooms at the harbour hotel
and watch from bay windows
the swell of the ocean
 
I can still smell them
as if they were still here
as if
you were still near
but you’ve gone
and only
the flowers of our youth
lingers on.

© 2019, John Smallshaw.