Sunday

Light burns deadpan sky, yesterday’s sun evaporates.Bells sing always for someone; you lie there almost deadface sculpted from pain, returning : but I have no flowers.I dream of sea worlds, saliva, messages. Today holds no hostages.Every moment perfect to itself, we exist in the shadows of memoryalong a corridor of recognition.I am full of you, empty of you. When you leave I return to myselfa stranger .