You’ve set fire to my sleep and my dreams rise and disperse like heat from the skin, bright and high like the moon in its dark cradle. If you lay still, embrace the weight of that humming plum inside your chest that keepsake house of cards, I will tell you where I hid the ghost And what was lost in the conflagration. We will rise from bed with the few things necessary for this life the few things we will inherit again when we cease to impose our image on glass and water in some dense pocket of the earth somewhere underground. The rest can burn, combust dissolve Rain down like stark dust On your long bones and shoulders the living border between my skin and your simple signs – we will find the time invent an ending and a prize, new meanings for surrender. |