Quitter IV

See them huddled

Just beyond boundary wall

A them to us -

Of which I’m neither.

Forbearing sufferance of a midnight drizzle

To practise their art

With little white sticks

Firmly clenched

Some hand made, some tailored straight

Sucking in great lungfuls

And exhaling clouds, like practising god-lings

Creating misty splendour in arc-lights' glow

.

Here I stand

Neither them or us

Fallen cast-out

Lost god-ling, a once was

This longing hurts

A cloud maker no more