Night Away

Is it the moon or the room?
The flickering lights seem to want to speak,
not in shades of orange,
but in bursts of dimming and fizz.

I gape from behind the secondary double glazing
as clouds wash over the night,
a few flares of light tease
like the lamp in my room.

I gaze at the ceiling lights –
spots of nothing doing nothing.
Out there the blue supermoon hides,
draped in passing rags.

This old coaching inn harbours many ghosts,
and tonight they dart and worry,
playing with the lights while the muddied sky
dash my view of the moon.

Shadows flit in dark corners of the room,
the cupboard door that doesn’t shut.
My heart flutters as the bar below closes
and silence penetrates the exposed beams.

Come now, I say, and switch off the lights,
nose pressed against the window.
I blow at the clouds
as a chill fills the room.