WINTER: PICTURES OF
LIES
I wait for you in a pub. The streets
are in rainfall, dying. Huge trees
lift their green shadows; the wind,
the lamentation of memories, far away.
Edwardian images: small snippets of the street
are engraved; cars, their amulets,
and photographs. On the common, the broken
docks, these pictures of lies. Another winter,
you should be in black. You smile . . .
dereliction is the end of our disguise.
