Danse Macabre by PETER BENNET

Let's wish the porcelain goodnight, its sleep
unbroken in its cabinet,

and sweet dreams to the Canaletto
of sunlight on a campanile,

obscured by shadows in this swirling room,
adjusting triangles in peace, while steely

ripples widen on smoke-darkened water.
Goodnight to niches in which lilies weep.

Each guest has pleased his opposite:
Uncouthness and Dishevelment

have danced with Ease and Dignity
across the yielding, talc-strewn floor,

Youth has pranced with Age, and Body
has re-engaged with Soul, to tunes

no longer heard, which all the skills
of living orchestras can merely echo.

The black-clad servants are somnambulant.
From off the gallery drop pale balloons

to lift abruptly, as a door
swings open elsewhere, and the draught is sweet.

It's nearly time for rest. The hills
are shedding darkness from their stature

beyond the graveyard, and light saps the gloom
where candles splutter while we sit

in dancing pumps of dust and draw
cobwebs around us on the window-seat.

From: The Glass Swarm by Peter Bennet
Published by Flambard Press 2008