|
| small hours
New sun, new rain
to dip my fingers in and
flick their beads across
my thin paper cup, my saucer
of nocturnal thirst. It feels
like weeks, these nights,
I've been a sea running scared
surging with the tide to
your
pale brown eyes
finding their way
straight through
to my second light.
We could break
each other's hearts, I had
said, but they're both
already broken. We could
skate across
the ice beneath the moon,
none less broken
none less healed.
I'm a sea
running scared
and I look for your
reflection
in the wet mirrored
sand,
but sometimes,
on mornings like this,
your sky turns black
before the sun goes down
and we
try to remember
how to cry.
Mia Moore
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