I wake, as always at some dark hour, to pee –
make my way, as always, with utmost care
down the steep, narrow stairs then across
the dining room’s creaking floor boards
as silently as bare feet can. Afterwards,
I creep to the patio doors, hoping
to see the visiting fox my hosts have heard.
There are stars in the clearest of skies –
so many, as always surprisingly
so many, I want to wake the household
but, instead, craning my neck, peer up
through the double glazing in wonder.
What would the fox, night’s denizen, see?
An old man in his pyjamas, singing
sotto voce, ‘I only have eyes for you,’
longing to go in the garden to gaze at
such mundane immensements!