Published in Planet: the Welsh Internationalist, 185 (October/November 2007). Honorable mention in the Dorothy Sargent Rosenberg Memorial Prize 2006.
The worn-out night allows dawn
entry into fervent white skies. Black
crows circle in luminous air,
shimmer dark in ferocious winds –
winging their way straight into the night-eye of the sun.
It’s as if there were the sounds of doors
opening and shutting all around.
The day yawned its boredom
winking sunlight on the black street
waiting outside my window.
glossing over certain pages of memory
we’d rather not see.
The street below is empty now
of hurrying feet, impatient wheels.
The street flows quietly on to the heart of the
city – silent and sleepy.
Except now and then
the soft baby-tread of the late returners
whispers damply in the after-rain hush
as they search their way home.