Cold morning day
Slice of light
Mass of men moving
In shadows darker than night
Wretched existence
Wretched beyond wretched
Yet today stirs
A different kind of courage
He meets the winter morning
With provisional hope
With a stinging tenderness
With a short, sharp sigh
He takes what’s left of him
Puts on his uniform
In truth, mere rags
But he wishes to see himself
In a more dignified light
He thinks back
To another world
A world he once inhabited
Where sense and time flowed
Flowed freely and flowed steadily
He remembers himself
In his miner’s uniform
Looking in the mirror he sees
His blackened cheeks
And his puffy smile
He remembers
His beloved’s arms around his
Embracing him from behind
What a sorry sight he was
All soot and cough
But he thinks to himself now,
“What good fortune I once had.”
Steadied by memory
Roused by the present
Clarity fills
His hunger-crazed mind
Courage enters
His meagre, broken heart
He puts on his shoes
In truth, mere pads
And steps out of his hut
Into the icy morning light.
