November Night

I'd stepped out into
one witching hour November's night
to have a cigarette.

I'd been awoken
an hour or so ago
by some middle aged memories,
the kind you don't expect.

It was not particularly strange
or still or anything like that

I just heard some wind-chimes
from around I'd never been privy to before.

But they were singing some Tchaikovsky bit
something I can't quite place.

Occasionally I stop
and realize intensely for a moment
where I am.

Just somewhere in the world
The same world that everything I know
exists in.

And I don't feel safe,
or in danger.

I do like the music though.