Resurrection by lamplight


It passes quietly in velvet slippers,
this season of hollow oracles.

You walk the rain-glossed streets by night,
away from lights and the bright melee –

crowds with eyes like imploded stars.
None of them smiled.

Your footsteps echo on stone slabs,
desperate for distance, forgetfulness

and shadows cringe in colonic alleys,
shudder in brooding incubation.

I want to help, and dart my hand –
try to catch a flame of reason, flickering and blue,

it passes through without feeling
and I know it’s me that’s losing reason.

The dove you find, dead come morning,
is speaking with its glazed eye.

It fell to your doorstep in frozen dew –
a veil hanging around your home –

a house like a tomb of eroding names.
Wake, wake, the dream is over, and all the needly fingers gone.

See where the missing curtain hook
admits a ray – a lifeline of new possibility.
© Caroline Fox Betts 2010

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