Poetry:
Kirby, Mark
Mark Kirby Baptism We are fighting against the last minutes of day. The air is changing color around us. Silence is falling. The balls explode off the strings. Silence frames the ebb and flow of...
...We do not need to listen...
...Around us houses are large and living, eyed with bright windows, breathing with voices...
...The street picks up the hiss of car-tires and it becomes a liquid wash, rhythmic, oceanic, sliding into extinction...
...Silence frames the ebb and flow of the make-believe war...
...A game is on the radio...
...After the last shout, when we are grey as dusk, we collect our things, thoughts stolen from the future...
...The water of our sweat excuses everything.ng...
Vol. 117 • August 1990 • No. 14
