Figuratively Speaking
Variation on Dylan Thomas's "In My Craft or Sullen Art"
Warrick shakes his head at the scene before him and begins walking around it.
"In my craft or sullen art, exercised in the still night when only the moon rages," he paused to kneel down by the bed where the bodies of a beautiful woman and rather handsome man lay. "And the lovers lie abed with all their griefs in their arms, I labour by singing light."
Sara reflects the smirk that formed on his face and asked, "Not for ambition or bread?"
He chuckled then, shaking his head. She stepped beside him, looking down at the bodies.
"Or the strut and trade of charms," he bemused as he snapped a photo. "Or the ivory stages."
"But for the common wages?" Sara asked expectantly.
"Only of their most secret heart," he replied as he took another photograph of the bodies.
Sara sighed as she sorted out the details of the case.
"Not for the proud man apart from the raging moon I write on these spindrift pages," Sara said with a rather melancholy tone as she sat down across from Warrick with unfinished paperwork.
"Nor for the towering dead," Warrick pointed out bitingly, not looking up from his own work.
"True," she replied with a smile. "With their nightingales and psalms," she said fleetingly, making him look up and grin only for a second before returning to his work. "But…" she pauses as a moment of realization comes to her. "For the lovers, their arms round the griefs of the ages-"
"Who pay no praise or wages," Warrick interrupted rather angrily.
She looks at him with sympathy, and he huffed a breath bitterly and said with little emotion "Nor heed my craft or art."