Barren plain, hollow night; the alcove steers
Me towards my fears. I entrenched alone,
Think of warmer wind, a whispered breath:
Her arms reach down, entwine across my back.
These sleepy ropes hold me from buried death;
As numb dreams hold more, the bed cradles less.
A killing hope! I suffer too much death.
With dream on dream: I, less fearless,
For a frozen mattress will haul me back
To single pulse, lonely beat, coldest breath.
Winter months breed sallow cheeks, icy tears
In weathered mine. I am snowbound alone.
If bound to rope, fastened such, not to tear,
My dreams and fears will mingle into one.
She’s beating above, I feel her breath.
Curse the warm draft I now long to send back!
Truth and dream – ill-fit – split for yearning’s death,
For truth will only ever be seen as less.
Now dream of the end: withered winter death.
Fear not falling rocks, nor becoming less.
Though what do I leave when my head rears back
As on lonely deathbed spend my last breath?
No hand to hold mine, no soul to shed tears?
I will die alone, dreaming of someone…
[who won’t be there]