Sense Too Much

ee Yiska
the snow
is falling

a tractor
pushes its way
through the snow
on the field

gulls and rooks
follow in its wake

the sky a dull grey
the sun wiped out
or nearly so

hear Yiska
the wind
through the trees
the birds calling

hear the snowflakes
silently falling
hear our breath
as we speak
or remain silent

feel Yiska
the snowflakes
on our faces
on our noses

hold out
your slim hand
let the palms
hold the snow

feel my closeness
sense me
drawing near

the nurses are talking
they talk
of their love lives
of the sex
they've had

hear their words
how they tease us
their words
of lovemaking
and freedom
and normality

feel the emptiness
bite us

our nerves taut
as wire
as we walk

see Yiska
how they walk
the nurses behind us
and before us

see how
their heavy coats
hold them
their black boots
marching like troopers

hear the nattering
of their lips
and tongues

sense my mental fatigue
and yours and ours

wait Yiska
they will take us
back to the hospital soon
and lock us up
once more
in the white ward
with the dull
water coloured prints
and photographs
of yesteryears

be near Yiska
let our fingers touch
let us feel
too little
or sense too much.

by Terry Collett

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