This is the way I see you
But won’t go there.
Instead I’ll listen
To your breath.
No, that’s all gone.
The blue long-sleeve?
The velvet dress?
Just the wash of water
At your feet, as you
Wanted, somewhere?
No. Not that.
I’ll not think of you at all.
Let you be elsewhere.
Let you be.


I’m retracing the lines on your face,
Map-reading the lostness.

The waves crease the night
Over the harbour. You’ve
Given birth. Our first.

She’s in town today.
She’s still hurting
But doesn’t know.

The one thing that happens,
And then it’s gone.
Bare feet on cold sand.


You dance to the jigs and reels
As the mountains behind you
Make their mourning.
The black ship stands for days out there.
I know about the black ships,
Their necessary abidings.
I can’t find a way up the mountain,
It’s wet and bogged down.
The day before, rain like no other,
In a pitch dark afternoon.
You bathe, and talk.
This is our final day, now done.
You say I won’t need you anymore,
Now I finished the crossword alone.


Your birthday.
A field gate.
The last walk
With your son
And me. Unstable sky.
We find the shore,
Its acrid zest,
Rocks to wade among,
The White House
Up the cliff, more
Shells than you could carry,
And the light weighted down
By what isn’t light,
By all that you’ll not see,
Nor me.


What comes next?
All this waste. From that
Place you watch it from,
Send me the news,
Neither good nor bad,
Anything with your name
In it.