It wasn't here, but not far off
she promised into my neck as we walked
the night between each streetlight spot,
watching our breath
freeze against the air. We were coming to the end.
Village thinned into bracken here,
blackened by the lateness of the hour
to a shadow stretching up the mountain,
bulkier than the terraced puddle at its feet.
Further,
further away;
then she announced we were close enough,
took my hand and turned.

Lights heaved up to every point on the horizon,
blazed with a decadent abandon
that drowned stars. The sky was a sunset sea
and I stood dazzled by that city on a hill
with the roar of raw energy thrilling in my ears

until her hand tugged me to the now
still scene before us. Small yellow dots
lined the gloom, tame and local.
Between them, with the silence of a shooting star:
one headlamp of a car. She remarked
how lovely it was -

and it was. But it wasn't
where we'd been before,
and said we'd stay.