no face is empty
even the executioner extends his hand
the flowers beam like sunsets
with the ink still wet on the documents
they give me back what I never wanted
while parts of me decay behind my back
cold clatter of boots on stone
I open my mouth
and hope a human sound will come
not seeking forgiveness
I make a season for my own sorrow
Jeff Klooger’s work has been published in a number of Australian literary journals, including Meanjin, Overland and Westerly. He has a PhD in social theory and philosophy.