Here in the Light

Here in the light
that forever fights the darkness,
we exist. Incomplete

nothing more than sentient flesh, yet
there’s always a surplus,
haunting us &
always finding ways to evade our gaze.

We call this thing our Self.

We can never have it; never know it,
not by demanding
                    or calmly asking

but we can see it,
in other eyes.

A New Year: Part i

This year gently ending,
            with your eyelids

        falling asleep,
we’re lost at sea, each
        swell of the surface
            is a pull
from the deep
                    & each
second is threatened
by a silence waiting
to claim the music
            in shivering

plays games with sound-waves;
        a spiderweb
                across the darkness
as we segue into dreams.

For hours we remain there
        but such time
has no significance
            where we are.

In the morning, when the mind emerges
        – a butterfly crawling
            from its chrysalis,
                given the gift
                    of one day to live –
you will tell me your dreams.

They are sometimes mundane,
but often they are strange
            & beautiful:

a flock of birds somehow derail the train
taking you to an unknown destination,
but you escape disaster
by leaping from a window
        & land softly
            in a meadow
                of wildflowers.

I don’t speak about my dreams,
because, it seems,
I only ever remember those most

shards of glass
as a crowd attacks &
        tears the flesh from my bones
            with their hands.

This doesn’t make me fear sleep;
there is
        something laying deeper,
within me
that I really fear.

I don’t think I want to know what that is.

        the year has ended:

as the new one begins, what we
are waking to will be something
            different, &
this year
        our dreams
            will no longer be
                so divergent.

Dreaming of You*

When the world reclaims you,
& I am left alone again
in my bedroom,

I will take the bloodstains
from the bedsheets & turn them
into roses…

Later, as I sleep surrounded
by the threads that fell from your skin,
I will dream

that each thread is a feather
    of white,

& a breeze,
heavy with heat
        will breathe
from the window,
as one
        by one,
            your feathers
                fill my lungs…

*Dreaming of You – Cigarettes After Sex