by Nick Swarbrick
There were whispers in that night too,
When, the doors locked out of fear,
Oil lamps guttered and men talked anxiously
Of certainty that died so easily.
Shadows on anxious faces, shadows
In corners, like deep points in pools
Catching the unwary come to bathe.
For what improbability lurks there ready
To drag the overtrusting from the half-lit place
Into a depth where hope chokes in the dark?
And what might these men see, straining
Weary eyes and wary minds to scry
For vision, comfort, revelation shining
In the shade beyond the reach of light?
NS
Wednesday, 06 April 2005
