HOPING
I've always wondered what a charnel house
must have been like. Some semblance of a
voracious instance of stern factors : smoke
and bones and the rest of all that. Needing
nothing of it, I always moved on. Now, by
contrast, we stand together, delirious, just
looking in. At one another? No, not that at
all - into some other room where people
are moving with hesitation, amid a glum,
gray fog and imprecise shadings, steady.
-
Somehow I cannot look away, though I
do not want to see. Forgive me then my
trespass, though I hope you'll let me be.
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