The two of us make evenings
that go murdering the days
as dark, fathomless gulls do,
clouding together in thousands.
You are still, they lash at me
and I touch you, I touch you,
but you won’t breathe.

O betrothed, my beloved
I am drowning as the twilight marbles you,
making empty echoes of your eyes,
making empty cradles of mine,
and of your veins
gentle, glancing pearls.

Beautiful thing, you are eaten;
the sea is like terrible glass,
like many climbing razors
and it licks the ash of your hands,
it roars at your dead lips.

This is the way of things,
the sand wreathes old corpses
and you are made less by the tide,
the flint of far-off moons.

Effigy, effigy, come back with me,
am I to leave you,
not to breathe?