Do you remember the bodies
that ricoched in the night?
Between clock towers
and grasping oaks
Leaking time into the darkness
like black molasses and thick oil
pouring into an empty heart
You are seen now in the light of burning
letters
cracked photos
empty wardrobe
vacant house
scent of a love evaporating
sighing computers
packaged laughter
a madness of ribbons
and that language
that crept across border at night
and knocked gently on the door of my dreams
finding me gone
left
nothing more to say as memory
fades and yellows like old newspaper that
scroll away on a breeze
as memory lies now in a wooden cart pushed
uphill and covered like a coat
with whispers
nothing left to say.
.
Malcolm Paul
Picture Van Gogh
,