We are all alone in the separation
How soon are we to shrivel up and die
Without a light or some familiar fragrance
The talk is of the vagrancy of the youth who
Celebrates tramps boxed up on the pavements
Talk of parents, undone by truth, purely agents
Unsure of their place in society’s rearrangements
Rooms with open doors; places to sit and to search
For that inner self, behind a screened containment
The talk is of open prisons, declassified because
The prisoners no longer do desire to escape
The talk is of economic depression, of
Contested paternity, of council house
Relocation; old walls to knock out
Perfumed gardens to make over
The poem talks of redemption
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