At 4am it’s you I seem to miss




Highlight the horizon

For my imminent arrival

My homecoming

Wants lightning and sun


The trout

Male-Brook-Trout111You went to emergency today with a pain in your heart. Tests found no cause so you drove to the stars. You photographed a Gould’s fish and sent it my way. A pile of silvery trout with yellow-tinged eyes. Like you, I too know a pain near my heart. Too tired of my skin and so shallow in breath. Mouth open in hope of developing new skills — perhaps just in time to remain in life. Eyes wide and near dry with the shock of it. For us all there’s no knowing at all. That pain that you suffer really is about your heart. (Which I know that you know.)


This too-honest light through such outdated curtains

guides nightmare-wide eyes to the half open robe.

much too much black and some anxious red floral

crowding and wrinkling and escaping from wire.

Scrapping in uniform — some stilted dance

can it be all these items are playing their roles

in some weird narrative inadvertently told?

Perhaps cataloguing some bizarre Freudian slip

of this someone who’s never been known.



upon awakening often

instead of enlightenment

there appears a pit

of items lost in dream stories

(or were they really lost in waking,

like keys and glasses and names?)

and ineffable aches in phantom

limbs which were fine reclining

but now, open-eyed, know nothing

of that sturdy long-lost mislaid youth.



Strapped up like some athlete

who sadly never got a run

but even so misses the play

and especially, now it’s gone,

the promise of a left shoulder

that was never owned but which

feels like was once in possession.

Now’s the ache of the fading bruise

and the itchy weary eyes which

must watch others on familiar fields

play the very same tired old game.