letters, sad stroke strike
sign a sigh. loop-lost
longing the flyleaf to
fold through i dare not
stridestain this crisp,
clean page
the rug of dust lay
delicate, an early winter's
sad soot cling
quiet, we breathe
out curl up
and fade
a sleepceasing thunderclap
bye bed footpad on
floor, your sleeptouch
who are you the
wall you make love to
the wall and
rattle the morning roars the
sky falls the
day breaks