LXXI

It rises slowly, tired and worn,
And drags its carcass out of night:
A sun that sheds a tepid light
Upon the asphalt roads at dawn.

Day, when I leave my sweated bed
And cruelly goad my dormant moods.
The grey on the horizon feuds
With bleeding streaks of gold and red.

The grey prevails and brings in tow
A dull parade of drizzling rain.
This arid, sunless, drenched domain
Is all there is and all I know.

XLI

My nights are vexed with troubling dreams.
I stand within an open space,
Disorganised, confused, displaced;
I'm silent, but my insides scream.

The sky above, a curfew black,
Has swallowed up the shrunken sun.
I cannot move, but I must run:
A knife is pressed against my back.

There's no denouement to this scene:
No lunge is made, no blood is spilled;
I am not stabbed; I am not killed;
But panic's vamping in my spleen.