Fingers to eyelids press, sight
closed to better see memory
and recall. Face in grimace, he imagines
what went before or happened then.
And a thought – Did I..? – heralds fatigue,
a weighted veil descends and settles
over shoulders tight and hunched in shame
as images return full speed
to crash with violence in his brain.
That eager energy of anxiety – Of hope! –
that buoyed him through each day and day
instead becomes a drain and his skin
loses its handsome colour; drags to that old
long-ago familiar blue of tinge, and of mien.
A sigh; a pause; and one again.
He tuts – What now? – but cannot, eyes open,
see past his deceptive pain.