Sometimes I feel her creep the edge of sleep

Where the city is burning,
I dream her mouthful of ashes.
I taste her starfish nova against the tide.

Her body is a book of matches;
Mine, a text, highlighted and underlined.

She weeps the sea-scuttle into an undertow.
Her fulsome wing, span of nightshade,
Weight-casts the lure to take flight,
Carrying her two shadows into the valley.

He says: *Yes, I live in paradise.
The red tide is mine.
The bioluminescent.  The drowned,
The ungainly specie God has set aside.