You slept that night, promised
to die- an offering, offering;
you're two eyes swimming
further, further back like
a perishing flower failing
the vine, a fish desperately
pulling a bright-white string
out to the safety of sea-
reeled in finally.
Sweet weight, a seizure,
slipping away, a ship from
its moor, moves carefully
like sun on a low-lying hill,
this born-again quiet, this
laced, silver film. How strange
your mouth lying against
my satin-thread pillow-
unlatched and dreaming
and dreaming.
