“As a watch in the night”

Psalm 90, 4-6


 

 

As if a trespasser arrived

at a room without sound,

with no moaning, but its absence,

the vague feeling of someone

sleeping or people

suddenly stop talking.

 

When he enters,

he finds no contours,

but feels they hurt

like long lost limbs that once were.

He seeks out the shadows

riddled by cobwebs.

 

There is no sound in the shadows,

just a cold hole, which pulls him in

beyond the ruins of silence,

a crooked wounding silence

in the remnants of a stricken night.

 

He has to reach the table,

covered by blades of grass,

 

        grass that is renewed in the morning

        and fades and withers in the evening.

 

He knows he has to sweep it away,

each and every night,

sideways to the soundless currents

of its shifting reflection.

Each time he tries,

whatever his approach,

the night keeps dying,

as if it were human.

 

 

 

 

© Yutka 2020
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