Night is my time; and now the rain,
Pattering in the darkness of the
Overgrown garden, seems like a lifetime’s
Distant thoughts – so cool, so impersonal
– an inspiration.
Yes, night is the time when, alone, I nurture
My intransigence, my inhumanity, my isolation,
My irremediable separation from everyone
I have ever known.
As, outside, the light rain scatters droplets
Among the humid leaves, I ask myself:
Do I suffer?
Well, my brittle, suddenly unmasked soul
Replies: perhaps I cried out, once…
But, oh, so very long ago…
And now the rain, diamond-like, scattered through
The twisted branches, the entangled labyrinth
Of my wasted days, still falls in the
Overgrown garden: a steady, gentle noise
Offering the faint possibility of reassurance,
The illusion that something matters.
A C Evans