All Behind Me Now ?

Last night’s rain,

The fence-creeping wet-poor fox,

The savage dreams of screaming men

Are all behind me now.

But their faces remain:

Dangled before me when I close my eyes;

I do not recognise a single one.

Am I supposed to?

Were they trying to pass on

A terrible secret?

Or had they just uncovered

The unholy lie?

I have no idea …

Their words, framed by desperate lips

Were lost to me, to everyone,

Their voices stolen.

Wise men say I cannot

Dream in colour.

If it is so, then black and white are

Cruelly vivid and dreadfully revealing.

Morning-of-April skies press the

New blue pages

 – Spring’s first chapter –

Against my unglazed windows.