The Fixer

(to Malamud)

the rain fell for days with no end to them.

the sky turned grey, the clouds gathered

and then the sky turned a heavy blue, opening

as the clouds moved away.

I cannot remember having dreams lately

as I stare through the balcony door

at all the brick wall buildings surrounding,

the trees shaking among blasts of wind.

a motionless fan stares at me dead

and the only sound to be heard comes not

from the voiceless monday afternoon

but from cries

and the strike of the wings from the magpies.

books are spread all over the coffee table,

facing down, witnesses to years of silence,

an old stained half empty water bottle

and a crowded ashtray.

there's still time for greatness

and still time for a taste of triumphant glory;

time to live and be able to sing free, not for

money or fame, nor for any power.

just the bliss that is the rain falling

at 1:56pm right on top of the chair, now soaking wet,

and the knowing that time too has an end

when one ceases the yearning to be led.