I Confess That I Do Not See

My Words In Her Mind: Cold Polished Stones Sinking Through A Quagmire.

Let My Country Die For Me.

Can't Bring Back Time. Like Holding Water In Your Hand.

I Have Left My Book, I Have Left My Room, For I Heard You Singing Through The Gloom.

When The Short Days Of Winter Came, Dusk Fell Before We Had Well Eaten Our Dinners. When We Met In The Street The Houses Had Grown Sombre. The Space Of Sky Above Us Was The Colour Of Ever-changing Violet And Towards It The Lamps Of The Street Lifted Their Feeble Lanterns. The Cold Air Stung Us And We Played Till Our Bodies Glowed. Our Shouts Echoed In The Silent Street.