Alison Croggon's weblog

Another dream poem

birds are gathering silently
along the rooflines
leaping and returning
in restless circles

even such squabbles as entertain them
evaporate in the feverish sky
it is as if a doom
clouds over them

inevitable as the soft night
who is a small boy running up the street
when he reaches the end
the game is over

then lovers leave their blood
to cool on the stems of briars
the lame king closes the shutters
against the wasteland

only children remain
listening to the silence
until whatever swells in them
bursts open

will the nightingale spring up
alone over the darkening roof?
will the children speechlessly
run through the door?

who is this word which approaches
from the white horizon?
they cannot tell
longing from dread