The grumble of a distant train shakes
me from dreams,
metallic smell
of her crusted veins lingering
in the moist air like a coming threat
of thunder. Fumbling
for the bathroom
light i
find myself
staring at a mirror
turned back to sand,
a shoreline of grainy morning
shadows where
the loneliest word is written

and erased by creeping tides,
traced and non-existed
like the back-and-forth
of a crosshead whose engine
to be off down the tracks,

my breath like her whistle
steaming for what lies
around the next stretch
of coast.

left for dead

folded up into a puddle of
blue-stained nightmare
she woke from the bottom
of the bathtub, shivering.

strange because
the tap was turned
all the way to the right,
streaming showerhead rain over
her best dress and dreams
hitherto undisclosed;

maybe it was the nakedness
that caused the goosebumps.


i saw her in my dreams,
crying.  metaphor for an implicit
tragedy haunting horizons
between the possible and
the inevitable; echoed footfalls
fill the edges, hauling
memories from an abyss
like coal-diggers in dark hills,
the weight of the earth
pressing on their eyeballs
and making it difficult to breathe.
tentatively i step
off the circumference
of my own breathlessness,
look out from under my
lashes and wonder if
the meaning is yours or
if the tears will all be
my own.