In The Dead of Night

Running softly, soundlessly
across the midnight rooftops
a dozen factory chimneys etched in black

Through the silhouettes of night
my soul goes running
silence masking its footfalls

Far away a ship calls home
its cry echoing
in the murky blackness

A pigeon roosts
on a factory windowsill
its glass reflecting the moon

As my soul goes running
no shadows does it cast
nor reflections are seen

For who will take the time
in the dead of night
to look at midnight rooftops

and notice as my soul goes running


© Susannah Bec 2011