Ragged sky,
like smoke in moonlight,
as if the fields were burning,
sleep if you can
in your watch cap,
the shredding wind,
the howl of March,
a chill in an empty house
flooded with the past,
the mind in its small boat
on a rocky sea,
you've come to a place
where the present
is your only chance,
the future a fiction,
a short story at best,
where the bravest among us
are the oldest.
