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Thursday, 8 December 2016

What the night really is...


Driving home from South Arm-

and I decide to see the night as it really is.

 

Bereft of colour or space,

the night is a sooty tunnel with no beyond.

The night is a railway tunnel

caked in the soot of a century.

 

This is what the night must have been when

I was a child. There is no world beyond.

The sides close in. I do not want to touch it-

it will come off black on my hand.

 

The trees are not alive.

The trees are sentries guarding the horror

of death.

It’s the colourlessness that strikes me most.

 

I do not like remembering how a child might see.

I drive past the place where two people were killed

only yesterday.
The road is strewn with sand.

 

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