The night closes in..

Lights go off here and there
Chopin stops playing.
No more flourishes.
T'is quiet.
The table catches my eye.
An orange peel, a burnt candle,
Loose change and Eliot's Wasteland,
A fallen beetle wanders over the folds
Of the table cloth, trying to soar
But falls down and lies still.
The candle lies still, the peel lies still,
The change is frozen still, the images.
The room is still.
The steely light bears down in the silence.
As the organ takes in its last whiff of air
Waves come in and all creation starts swimming..vanishing
The shutters slowly come down without choice,
T'is still again;
Still.