Sinistrata (a poem)

In the twilight through the window from next door
the sounds of melancholy and despair
once deep within
now out in the open darkness
under shadow and cover

One solitary figure
there in the space
an architect of gloom
a raw wound
open and fresh

Washes and waves
questions in sustain
with percussive accents
a broadcast to nowhere
and everywhere
in the wavelengths’ range

Time the only distance now
from memories of the next-door twilight
one solitary figure
a raw wound
open and fresh
under shadow and cover

And a record of it all

(29 May 2016)