The poem
Someone was saying something about shadows covering the field, about how things pass, how one sleeps towards morning and the morning goes.
Someone was saying how the wind dies down but comes back, how shells are the coffins of wind but the weather continues.
It was a long night and someone said something about the moon shedding its white on the cold field, that there was nothing ahead but more of the same.
Someone mentioned a city she had been in before the war, a room with two candles against a wall, someone dancing, someone watching. We begin to believe
the night would not end. Someone was saying the music was over and no one had noticed. Then someone said something about the planets, about the stars, how small they were, how far away.
Something about this poem suggests that it is not finished. It may be a purposeful attempt to convey that as bad as life was, in retrospect perhaps those were the best of times, having happened before one had the ability to comprehend. And now, even if the music starts, it is a different time, small and insignificant when one ages.