'What Is This?' (a poem)

A static world obstructs the clearest view.
Somewhere a clock reminds us it's Tuesday.
Benevolence scatters under overinflated bus tyres
as a misadvised nun shakes the rain from her hat.
Far beyond the galaxy a new star is birthed.
Orange opaqueness mixing with samphire green.
All that was lost continues to call a reminder.
Unseen gentlemen dance beneath the floorboards.
If always could ever be blossomed,
redundant fighters would rise and rid the wastelands.
But we, forlornly sheltered, can only but depart
and trust that knowing fingers hold the cradle.

RC 30-8-25