Shane McCauley: ‘Time on Our Hands’
Time on Our Hands
And out there a great silence like a sleeping god.
—Fernando Pessoa
Every now and then, so distantly,
a thin siren cuts through the quiet
that cushions the house.
Beyond the wall occasional footsteps.
We are our own warders
making sure we don’t escape.
Disconnected but not discontented,
larders full in this decelerating
time. Flowers still bloom.
The wind still roams. And though
the days are filled with deaths
a thick juice of history fills
our veins, telling too of survivals
and new lives begun. At mid-day
see so clearly, as has been said,
not a new thing under our sun.
– Shane McCauley
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