The book of torment

The book of torment

The book of torment

Already you witnessed a vast company of crows
calling loudly, insistently, as they criss-crossed low
over the house, wheeling in slow arcs
like curves sketched in pencil, growing darker and heavier.

Calling loudly, insistently, they criss-crossed low
as you struggled to live two lives at once;
like curves sketched in pencil, growing darker and heavier,
in another room there waits a third life.

As you struggled to live two lives at once,
looking at your hand holding open a book,
in another room waits a third life, held by
a stranger\'s hand: thoughtful, uncertain.

Looking at your hand holding open a book,
a lock of dark hair marks your place
and the thoughtful, uncertain stranger’s hand
holds tightly the book of torment and ecstasy,

where a lock of dark hair marks your place
under folded blankets of grey cloud.
In the book of torment and ecstasy
it was as if spring could never return.

Under folded blankets of grey cloud
when the night demons alight on your brow
it was as if spring could never return.
At dusk in the garden\'s sinister noctilucence

the night demons alight on your brow:
insipid pale nymphs by daylight,
but at dusk in the garden\'s sinister noctilucence
they are sharp across your vision.

Insipid pale nymphs by daylight, yet
you climb back into that small unfathomable grief
rising sharp across your vision,
its bitter, silken murmur almost soothing.

You climb back into that small unfathomable grief
wheeling in slow arcs over the house,
its bitter, silken murmur almost soothing
since you witnessed the vast company of crows.