The Secret Life of the Village

It has almost stopped raining,
but cloud’s still lower than our house.

Abandoned shoes and burn marks
show points of departure on the street,

blackberries and sloes fill the hedges,
waders call at night. I used to have

a bookcase that opened out on hinges
to reveal a secret room beyond.

If there is such a thing as community
it is now invisible in the morning mist.