Broken Chains

Between sunrise
and sweet hyacinth,
April showers
and cicadas,
autumn leaves
and apple pie,
winter puddings
and rose-red Valentines,
beasts
break their chains
and water on the face
becomes
terror;
reader,
be kind . . . 
Ask the soldier
back from war,
ask the victim freed
what shadows each
in the middle of the night,
in the middle of the day --
that which will not
go away . . .
no magic to say,
only shock
to pay.