13 JANUARY 1973, Page 15

Midnight

No sound but snow falling, the sunken city of the world drifting silently under its crosses.

In far darkness a siren begins to wail

softly, for this

is the land of the living and everywhere here punctual odd clocks are whirring and striking. Yes, tonight again it seems I must climb the dark spidery stairs of the truth and again at the top wait shivering, staring at nothing.

And thus to return as now, knowing nothing,

blind with belief as a dream of winter roses

to find you waiting in the simple 'firelight •

soundlessly ,openin'g

your skin, bringing me in.

Rithard Ryan