Garden at Evening
He forgot about the dust on the floor
and crumbs on the kitchen table,
the shrinking light behind the windows.
It started with the garden,
the ashes from the dead bonfire,
cracked fencing and the clumps
of ragwort, flowering quince, camellias
waiting for something to happen.
Then darkness arrived
as smooth as falling water.
Sometimes, for minutes at a time,
the shred of a sensation, words
half-forming into thoughts, drifted
like blown sand across his mind,
a noise no different form silence,
obliterating time and presence.
Osiris 32, 1991
Osiris Poetry 