Treasure Island

Leslie Philibert

(6th March 1954 / London, England)

A Buried Man


A half moon at its highest point.

His first winter at the graveyard; the grey sky falls into
bits of ice: he may envy the lights of the rings of houses.
Strangers now carry parts of his life; nothing stopped, no place
unfilled, affection diluted by absence as
the darkness waters the night.

Buses crawl round the empty streets.
From a distant bar the sound of glasses and laughter,
warmth.

Submitted: Sunday, November 11, 2012
Edited: Monday, November 12, 2012
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