The Last Time I Saw You Sleeping

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 bright-white string
out to terrible, distant seas-

reeled in finally.

Sweet weight, 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 a blue, satin pillow-

unlatched and dreaming
and dreaming.

1 comment:

clare said...

Your writing really reminds me of Mallarme. I've added you to my links as I like your site so much, hope that's ok!