ERROR WORLD
wrote Louis MacNeice
in an autumn that passed from peace to war
long ago,
one captured moment among trees, fading car headlights
October in Hampstead becoming November.
And here I sit by an open kitchen window
letting in the January air to fill me with something more than doubt
while political men speak of walls and borders
don’t they see the borders are made of flesh
walls come from doubt and anger.
which they hold, which they see in mirrors.
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