Assuming another interrogation
I keep a coward’s silence.
He can’t wish to form
an affectionate bond,
to walk in its mountains as a free man.
Isolated in individual cells
an unreliable witness waits.
This hankering,
her laughter at his clumsy gifts –
the daughter’s crying out
for help – the rhythms always central
enough to realise
that every object will outlive
me.
Traces uncovered,
a deal done.
I kept it for a week but he said no
no, it is not important now.
The last time I saw him,
some months before the end,
he told me we would lose.
He was not accusing.
He expected.
This knowledge he traded
for his life.
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