What you see

It is so cold a night
The helicopter's sides
Above unseen rail lines
Flash silver flanks, not white.

How skilfully it hangs
Upon the black loud air.
The searchlight pours down where
We think, a burglar runs.

It is so simple. So,
How great, the shock next day.
On steel the dead man lay,
Whose name we never know.

Alison Brackenbury

If you've any comments on this poem, Alison Brackenbury would be pleased to hear from you.