Lines for Jane and Jonathan Wells

How the white horses gallop through the city

At nightfall, when the fog rolls in from the sea

And one by one the street lamps fail to light.

o

The curtain of the port rises on nothing—

No buoys and no boats. Only the cry

Of a gull flying somewhere over the water,

o

And then the whinnying of the last horse

Rearing before the gate it will pass through

On its hind legs to join the rest of the herd.

o

Only this—and the light above your door.