Something removed roars in the ears of this house
Hangs its drapes windless, stuns mirrors
Till reflections lack substance
Some sound like the gnashing of windmills ground
To a dead halt;
A deafening absence, a blow
It hoops this valley, weighs this mountain
Estranges gesture, pushes this pencil
Through a thick nothing now
Freights cupboards with silence, folds sour laundry
Like the clothes of the dead left exactly
As the dead behaved by the beloved
Incredulous, expecting occupancy
Other Derek Walcott songs:
all Derek Walcott songs all songs from 2018