Glove box

Inside he felt under ice
floating away from surface,
began to revisit himself
in the shrubbery, unsafe,
surrounded by laurel,
rhododendron, a couple
in the old Westminster
parked at the mansion
but hiding in the shadow.
Seeing them, he laid low,
view obscured by clumps
of foliage, the headlamps 
off, but in the glove box
light he saw their sexual
activity without a clue to 
its meaning, some closed
rite, which only decades
later could he understand,
poised himself for bliss
gazing into a glovebox.
Inside he felt under ice,
floating away from surface.