IN THE TIME OF THE FLOOD

To P. R. C.

Your distant words are hope,

even in the knowledge of my betrayal,

precious like snowflakes

in this flooded landscape of dying.

This land sinking in mire

when all should be frozen,

and I given your words,

precious even at this late hour.

No roads leading away to those scenes

in time and place we call the future -

except the ones we make, and

I, I build lanes ending in cul-de-sacs.

16.01.2020