January 27, 2022:
He walked unheeded along his grove by saddened angels,
crosses, broken pillars, family vaults,
stone hopes praying with upcast eyes, old Ireland's hearts and hands.
Among gumheavy serpentplants, milkoozing fruits,
where on the tawny waters leaves lie wide.
Blue dusk, nightfall, deep blue night. What does she say? Rachel, is it?
No. He kills his mother but he can't wear grey trousers.