The hiss of wheels
On rain drenched streets
Twisting aimlessly around hills
Mist curling into haloes
Around dim street lights
A sad drunk singing
pulling up his collar
against the wind
By the roadside
A nameless, toothless
Crone with rheumy eyes waiting for buyers
Of her shrivelled oranges A lame dog howling
At the keening of the wind
nothing happens
On this Christmas Eve
There are no intimations
From beyond