THE LIZARD
      No one has come from the fronts we knew Shanghai and Chungking, for a long season : silent the Madrid broadcasts. So was Vienna once blotted out. We remember her voice fading.
      o one has come. Letters unwritten. The stricken have been smothered..after years of ditch-stumbling? the battling, thi tunics have been gored to death where China8s dragon meets the Spanish bull ?
      In the sheltered ro ks of our homeland, the pacific waters, hills shrouded with evergreen and the valleys yellow with corn and apples ; between the walls of our houses spashed with a vivid wallpaper
      radios blare the censored version of our living: wres lers rage, ba eball bouncers rant the words of as recipe trickle upon the ear while Lord Halifax speaks sprightly from London describing how people run about gladly
      attending to air-raid precautions (worrying no doubt, like the rest of us about constipation !)
      In the sheltered rocks, stealthily, a lizard slips hesitant into sunlight ; tunes himself to the wind's message. We slip out in pairs, as lovers
      strip ourselves, longing to see bodies bare and flesh uncloseted to hear real voices again, to uphold the song of one coming from Madrid, Shanghai or Chungking from the fronts we knew.