These two fears unite us —
the deaths for which he is wrongly blamed,
the three people I know myself to have been.
The people he loves in the past are himself,
not a real person, not a ghost, my someone,
no one I had ever loved was real.
I heard my voice talking to the dream-voice
from the pillow; I let the days overlap and swim
out to sea, as though bitten by the past.
The less dark air and the shadows pair:
the light calms the air around the colours
that darken sweetly, little by little.
