three hours drunk
red eyed and haunted by a done deal.

hope's fall,
face-bound, salt-strong and pressed
in life's howling gale,
the strong man
and that whiskey glare.

she is
blood
in me,
but sees no map of mine,
no lines and no rail
to the life that she lives here.

our place, in me, unchanged:
by years,
by time,
by this strange roaring sea
that bears a shipwreck'd span.

sleep, love,

sleep.

...never spoken...
...and never heard.