There’s a pool of blood at the end of the street,
Where droplets splash the dirty stone,
And memory drags from reluctant depths,
When shadows crept and evening fell,
The sound I heard and pushed away,
Of pain and terror, tormented dog.
The heart makes leaps and links the two,
The story glares from drying blood,
The trail of drops across the street
And down the path between the fields
To the riverbank where oblivion runs.
In creeping shadows, evil lives,
And crawling flesh remembers things
Eye never saw, but the heart still felt,
Death in a corner, ni vu, ni connu.
I find the place in the beaten sedge,
Where the broken barrier let them through,
To give the broken, bloody mess
To the all-embracing river’s arms.
And does it matter and do we care?
Is blood the same however shed?
An end to suffering when all is bled,
In the river running down to the sea.