Idris Caffrey
Set at naught (1986)
I can no longer look
upon frost and see
sparkling gemstones set
in snow or white blossom
covering the nakedness
of winter trees.
Frost is splintered glass
hiding away in cracks
of pavement, embedded
in the dark alleys
of our broken community.
I can no longer look
into windows and see
a river sheeted in sun
or the reflections of
hope in youthful faces.
Windows are our prisons,
smashed not for freedom
but by the intruders who
stalk our rain drenched streets.
But we are still here
locked into one season -
all this time waiting for spring.
Page(s) 97
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