Write

by Alan Hardy

It’s a rewrite.

Sat by the window looking out

at the side of the square

in shot.

The footpath narrows down my view.

Yellow ground-lights’ glare

makes

shadows in the night.

I’m alone, like the other time.

The others are in their rooms.

The clock ticks out

the evening’s stillness.

An image of continuity.

Survival.

An outline in the darkness.

Lines in the gloom.

Tremulous lights fighting against total

despair. Blackness.

The monotony of echoes,

the recollection of moments,

gives

a structure.

Like things said twice.

One dot joined up with

another.

I fight against the darkness,

create outlines in the murk.

I make out shapes in the night.