Brian Purcell
in a time of lockdown
I walk out in clear air
that moments ago was filled with rain
catch a face at a window
filled with terror
streets that were jammed with cars
now empty
neon lights of a café closed for weeks
beat ‘open now’
a shape moves between pillars
of the locked-down care facility
distant skidding of a solitary car
I cannot turn around
to watch it pass
light and darkness beats
words fill pages then empty
now that rain no longer falls
reasonable ideas
dissolve in mist
the woman returns to the window
her face calm, the horror departed
she searches the streets
she looks right through me
my steps land on tar
the brittle surface no longer holding
I think of your lips, so far from me
the calming words that are now meaningless
and possibly always were
but there are colours and shapes
and memories that cannot be removed
by solemn gentlemen in long dark vans
whose faces always
tilt to the earth