You became a dark earth on the back
of a real sun, which blazed in credulous eyes.
When you shot the lamb, its bleat
festered like a splinter.
At 3am the lights throbbed like veins
on dark men who staggered out of clubs
smelling of starvation.
You knew them all, the shout, the fist, the eyes
like stale urine. You went inside.
A woman lay bound and gagged on a table.
You took out your wounds and laid them beside her.
She kept breathing, staring straight ahead.
At last you remembered the sun, its whiteness,
the clarity of steel.
You left her there, familiar at last, and your hands
smelt of sweet acid. It was dawn again.
© Alison Croggon