Is this the winter then,
No sparkle from your voice
Across the phone.
No precious light to flicker
In your eye,
No shape or curve
Just solid nerve to get me by.
Is this the year end then,
Quiet from the hill
And shelved in labelled boxes.
No bright smile to brush
Away the pain.
Brilliant heart and words
Gone like birds ahead of rain.
Is this the future then,
Yes, the mute answerphone
is tight lipped.
No freestyle chatter
Off the walls,
No common sense
Or recompense, when evening falls.
29.11.95
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