Visiting old friends, and the morning after

I turned up at your door
after so long, uncertain,

but you hauled me in like the prodigal.
You remembered so much! You seemed

to have gathered up the bits and scraps
of notions, anecdotes, ridiculous jokes,

I spilled all over the place last time,
and patched and polished and made

artifacts of them, and gave them back.
And though you had had to attend

to your own days, you seemed
to have followed mine, and had an eye

for the marvellous dross. After more
than a brace of Famous Grouse,

I didn’t say what I should have said
- Good-night, was all, and thanks -

but let me tell you now: it was a red balloon
that sailed the streets last night, and touched

the gable-ends, and nudged itself
into my quiet house. A thing of bone

I woke, and rasped and whined,
trying to cobble out of bread and soap

a rickety first hour - until an easy tune
that must have played all night, came through:

it paced the weary kettle out, the razor danced,
the tap trolled out a shanty and the bacon crooned

and then...Oh then! The drawing of the curtains!
Low cloud with rain by dawn

the prophet had intoned; instead,
you made the sun to shine!

I think I shone, my crown
set rakishly and carrying

my music box and book of spells
into the cauldron of morning, off to the wars.