In grey morning,
he asks for silence
in his ears and in his mind.
But in his heart all he can find
is loud defiance
against grey mourning.
Tears may flow with grievous utterance,
but he knows them only as a sterile, saline appearance.
So the waters show him, in an epiphanic reflection,
the real self, so different without affectation.
But then he doubts his clean, clear stance
when silent winds break liquid countenance.
In grey mourning
he finds defiance
the cold veneer of the blind.
For in his heart the ties that bind
were made in silence,
in grey morning.
21 June 2000