Sand Hoppers

Last night I ran
Out into the countryside
Along a brown-grey road
That glowed underfoot.

Behind me a gibbous Moon
Shone from behind
Scad-flanked clouds.
Flooding the fields
With sharp shadow.

My mind was taken back
To youthful days
Fishing on night beaches
Carved from moonlight.
Sand hoppers would gather
Around the oil lamp
Ignoring the Moon above.

I wish I could have ran
All night
On
Upwards
To distant mountains.

I could not.
The town reeled me back
To its glow
And like the sand hoppers
I chose the light
That hides the night
From us all.

Reading History

As I read the history
Of the last century
I am aware
That the pages
Are no longer
Made from paper
But are of white
Bone.

Ink
Black at first
Turns brown
Dried as rust
Words written
In the blood
Of those killed.

The dead cry out
To us
Not to write
Our history
In burnt flesh
And broken faces.