Wednesday, March 26, 2008

Aequitas: City Sleeping

As I'm abed, the wind whip howls
Around the corners of my house,
In waning year.
The snow is packed and
Footsteps at my door.
I rise and call
'Who's there? Who's there?'
No one answers.
Outside, though
In whip howling wind
A man passes my door.
The snow packs underfoot
Or was that something else?
The bare trees sway about
Haunting figures, but
Creaking, groaning,
Reaching out for something. What?
What what what do they want.
The warmth of summer air.
In waxing year perhaps there's hope
But not right now, in waning year.
'What was that?' again I rise
To noise outside.
Perhaps the sound of deer?
It could not be, they don't tread here.
The city is where they dwell.
Or was that something else?
It's there again.
I decide (against my better judgment)
To stay awake and have some tea.
Outside they sleep
Dead, or no? It doesn't matter.
In waning year the living
Are as cold as the dead.
Or is it the other way 'round?
Through the pane
Of frosty glass, I see
A figure walking, back and forth,
Though it doesn't see me.
See me? Be me. Don't try,
It hurts.
Not snow this time, but something else.
-Oh no! Something else.
I wonder what it is.
I robe myself and step outside
Into whip howling wind,
To look around and have a see
At what it is disturbing me.
Over there, by the refuse bin,
A bear scrounging meal
I asked him
'Why are you about so late?
You should be asleep.'
He looked at me with tired eyes
'And so should you, now go away'
So away I went,
Back abed, whilst the wind whip howls
'Round the corners of my house.

1 comment:

Kathleen said...

Thank God for the bear, you were freaking me out.