'Does the sower
Sow by night,
Or the ploughman in darkness plough?' — William Blake

On this night
black as innocence lost
buses, taxis, aeroplanes
plough with broken furrows
the fields of Castleknock, Dublin 15
after which the wind from a bottomless bag
disperses the tears
of every parent, shed
to fall on disturbed tarmac.

Before the rays of the sun
make pale the moon
and extinguish street light:
with ******’s needle
and rotting reed, blot
in moon black blood
this balcony where I make myself scarecrow
keeping a watchful eye
for all the children taken.