Night and Day


Oh Forest Wood

You block the sun

And now the time

For play is done.

The mushroomed meadow, the needled rug

Lie in silence

The worm, the root, the beaded dew

Wait in darkness.

So quickly comes the dusk,

The orange muddled night break,

Privileged witness to the last lonely fluting

Of the hermit thrush, the infants call.

No bird speaks in the cold night

Yet in the lovers clasps and dreams

There is a pleasure

Not unlike when he sings.

A pleasure greater still

Is the dawn unframed 

That cracks the void of awful black

To free the patient day restrained.



Lost Opportunity


If there was one bullet

In that gun that you run waving

Past the crowded archway

Outside the last museum’s

Grey solid walls

Housing the creations

Of dead men

In hollow corridors

What explosion

Could you muster?

Or with your weak and sterile body

Would you hold the cold metallic chamber


And watch the unspent powder

Fall down into the dust?