A WAY OF SEEING
This room is an echo –
echo of all my dreams. The actor
waiting for a role. The preacher listening
to silent voices, expecting
tongues of flame. The fields
are tumbling
down towards the road. Alone,
that’s not like loneliness, a brightness
flows from distant murmuring.
Approaching friends, or strangers even.
The valley is alive, the room
is echoing
with hope. Pain falls
a victim to its own dis-
is light; the light reveals
my will to see. It enters me.
I dwell
in brightened shadows,
ignoring shadowed light.
Malcolm Evison
