Aftermath
Aftermath
Aftermath
The clamour of a thousand images
Resonates, still, in my brain :
Cityscape with niches and rushed
Contingent traffic;
Context for an exploration and a re-inking
Of friendly boundaries
Sleep at last and still this din
Of unanswered questions and explorations;
Familiar, almost, and forever strange.
A sunlit Sunday of quiet intimacy.
Events emerge, shrill and unbidden
From the pianissimo string passages of life :
Wagnerian horns in Rustaveli.
Markings in the score Lennie Bernstein
Would know to observe. And yet
Traffic of the dead, no longer in this game
And whispering in my ear.