Wednesday, 20 August 2014

After Dark

In the deathly quiet of the midnight house
the new regime had been adhered to.

With a brown leather bag hooked over his shoulder
he had followed the ghost of a railway line.

After dark and dinner the work continued
in a pool of yellow lamplight.

The fountain

flowing an endless rain of words
that came from the hand
that had touched the morning’s cold moss.

He kept on going until the digits in the sphere
tripped a code that said sleep now, sleep.

But no books have risen from this reservoir, so far


  1. Yes... further down a road Beckett hiked in his latter days.

  2. Indeed he did. Traveling very light as he went.

    Thanks Red.



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