20 July 2017

Villanelle


The clock’s slow ticks. Your heart’s dry beat.
The telephone waits, indifferently dumb,
And endlessly the days and nights repeat.

Footsteps thump from the frozen street,
Fade to air like a passing drum.
“The clock’s slow,” ticks your heart’s dry beat.

The fire gives off an unfelt heat,
The radio, a half-heard hum,
And endlessly the days and nights repeat.

One by one your hopes retreat,
As shadows on the floor become
The clock’s slow tick, your heart’s dry beat.

Pages snowdrift at your feet.
You stare them through, unreading, numb,
And endlessly. The days and nights repeat

Until their sameness is complete
And now you know I will not come.
The clocks, slow, tick your heart’s dry beat
And, endlessly, the days and nights. (Repeat.)

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