Three figures at five minutes

Before three o’clock, a white circle

Of Roman hours above an arcade of brown

Shadows. And beyond, a sky of verdigris

That doesn’t say night or day.

Which three o’clock is it?

Golgotha’s or the hour of suicides?

To the left of the minute hand,

Framed by the square hallway window,

The farthest figure cuts a diminutive

Silhouette hunched over the parapet

Above the arches. Is it there for a breath

Of fresh air, or is it going to jump?

Below, under the second arch

From the right, a darker, faceless

Apparition emerges from the chiaroscuro

Of the wall behind. It seems to hesitate,

But perhaps only to watch its steps

In the twilight, before descending

Into an almost empty courtyard

Where the third figure, white

And standing so still as if wrapped

In a shroud, seems to be waiting.

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