All through the night the voices spoke
and the pictures jittered past like images
trying to escape from ancient celluloid.
All through the night the sky was dark
with here and there a star
where wind had scraped the cloud away.
And when the dark began to fade
the voices silenced and the film run down
nothing had changed.
Nightingale’s furious tireless song
swept through the emptiness
bridging yesterday and all the todays
and tomorrows that are left
with a thread as tenuous
as unwritten verse.