The Wolf

A summer forever preserved
In a plum jam nostalgia
By a knock at a door
Bold and wooden
In an empty wide cobbled straße
No windows to aid curiosity
A second knock
Equals sinking realisation
That one more unanswered knock remains
Before twelve months and many miles of hope
Freeze to a moment of tightened recollection
Golden laughing and sepia lusting

This is silence this is pain

And I turn away
From the Wolf with a V
Who now belongs only ever to the past