A northern sky
Crack! thunder over head
Flash crackle of lightning
The gods unsaid:
Stretch your words across the sky
Illuminate the stark, skeletal, high
Trees of another northern winter.
Some poor sod's undoubtedly dead
Covid 19? No, ithey'd have said.
He has always been subject to the recurring roar-of-something-not-quite-said
Which echoes, nevertheless, reverberates, disturbing the dead,
All around my desperately thinking head,
Hidden clouds drop hail-rain
Like sharp-soft stones pelting me down
into a world turning wet and lonely, for me.
I sit by the window wearing a clown’s frown
On a world turning out to be different than even I expected
A sharp decline in the chances, offered by the gods,
A rise in the night sky's slnking-frown,
A clown’s painted-on smile,
A curve of white grease, lips pointing down,
A mile wide tease, an eight mile high light relief,
Definitely not heaven-sent, he said,
But splashed all over my northernsky,
The moon offers me limited respite
From interminable night:
To the tightness of my still-beating heart
Saturated, now, as the storm subsides,
Satiated with all the blood and thunder of no disguise
Infectiing lonesome, covid 19 English eyes
I lack that mandatory air of fooling-about
Which hides what is really always there
A man trapped in this thinnest of air.