The Street

 

 

The street I walked was very long,

had shops on both sides, but it was

empty of people.

 

A hearse drove past stopped outside

a florist, driver picked up a couple of

wreaths, drove off.

 

Across the sky a lone plane flew

the echo of its motor sounded mute

and full of melancholy.

 

I turned around a woman stared at

me, eyes, blue as a day in May; then

she was erased by mist from the sea.

 

The street too had vanished, the world

had no colours, but I heard cowed feet

walk reluctantly eastward.