Last Orders

A cheery one for Christmas. I'm not sure where it came from.

Something’s crawling at the eyes’ far edge.

A worm of old new light slips through the fence,

Unthinking, silver, hungry to partake

Of ordinary vision’s hang dog flesh.

This final light is everybody’s due.

The Inbetween fills out our meagre scope

And what we are becomes much less than dust.

Each sentence shrivels on the drying tongue.

It’s time for you and I to kiss goodbye.

The ghost of us, evaporating fast,

Leaves a tender music to be sung
Here, wrapped up in nowhere, in no time.