Nightfall. The black heart where a man cannot measure
All that forgetfulness.
Is it that everything which went before
Has now been emptied, voided – all the uncountable
Loss of her love, unable to feel a touch now,
No face visible and even memory fading with the light
Of a torch which dims, its battery nearly dead?
Instead, the loneliness of an aircraft pulls distance
Towards a familiar haunting. A journey, perhaps,
Some want to go back, to feel again…
It is so vast, so vacuous without company
Other than a creature’s anonymity in the dark.
One cannot write but what one feels
And so we seek in blindness some sign,
A meteor above, a blinking star,
The far-off gunshot, the voice of God
Or talking to oneself in such confession
That writes this poem.