Between sharp-sting showers
We all stare intently into
The February-end fire heart
Hoping to glimpse a little of the sun.
In that Damascus road
Moment of realisation
I suddenly know we are not all
Looking for the same thing.
The establishment, I suggest,
Look for the return of the old sun;
Reassurance of pattern and continuity.
Those wishing to throw off the
Brake- chains of winter and
Too-tight familiar ties seek
The nativity-shock of a new-bright Sol.
The hobos and the desperadoes
Will welcome any one that gives
But a day’s worth of warmth
And some ease of heart.
Shame on us all –
Indeed a shame it is for us all –
For the flames that lick and twist
And flare-dance so seductive wise
Are impostors only; we are vain
And foolish-distracted, looking,
Not for the first time,
In completely the wrong place.