The wound is sunset volcanic glass the sea between the cradle in the lee a swell stretched in a glimpsed hiatus The cigarette burn you left still brightly watching from the harbour of my chest A ship with nowhere but this destination You said sorry, how you slumped burnt copper dreaming slept the way old lighthouses do The fabric holing with that mesmer’s grace Spilling ash and flickered thoughts the glare clenched in the spasm of your fist gone wave break lax Afterwards for salve a sting, the glassy shine of long past knotted healing The grain of sand in the isthmus of your eye all that remains Watchful in a different glass (still wide awake) Of the beach I dreamed
