It’s the cruellest month to be sure
Hanging between the dark
And the promise.
The showers of black rain
Define the horizon quivering
In the distance.
“Is this it?” it asks.
Into the great unknowing
We send digital images
In ways
We don’t understand
Through
Distance shrinking
To our thinking.
A bin full of paper hankies brimming
With a warning like all non – living things
And living things.
“Don’t touch me“. They say.
And our hands long to touch –
To squeeze the flesh of our loved ones.
To feel their aliveness
To sense our connection.
We have no leaders
Only soul bleeders caught in the headlight
Of their deadly karma.
Rendered impotent by the simple
Power of nature.
It was coming – we can see that
Staring at the green and yellow wall
Tasting the last of the Milk Tray
Wondering what comes next.