A Poem

Sleep well, my love, and dream of me
For outside dreams lies life, and deathless burial
Where the blood we spill is never our own.

Grope for me in the sea's last fog, the blast
that drags you mewling into the light
Must be resisted, that which cannot be
Resisted.

From far slopes of forgotten days I sought
Those contours of our crumbling horizons, fell
And spring again into unconscious lust blooms
While we are mocked by blossoming.

Our laundry no longer tangled together,
Seperated, the darks and lights, by Lord Jim
Crows over fleeting fortunes, a murder of ravens
Wheel together, making a servant of the wind.

Sleep well, my love, and dream.