AUGUST IN NĂśRNBERG
Heat out of mind, time struck
like a crystal bell chiming the clock
of light, August in NĂĽrnberg.
Two children chase their bulldogs
who are tussling on a lawn,
they call them by name:
In this crystal prison, my memory, I think
they will call
Its walls are certainly out of sight.
Forever till the night
when the clock breaks and the words
go out beyond hearing.
But now the trees are loopy with spotlights,
the gardenâ€™s warm with human life:
all the churches have been rebuilt,
the sacred miseries all been catalogued.
Somewhere, someone is crying out â€“
The children will find this out
in their own ways.
DAVID SERGEANT‘sÂ poems have recently appeared inÂ The Guardian,Â Poetry Ireland,Â Poetry Review and Rialto; his second collection will shortly be published by Green Bottle Press.
Read more by David Sergeant: