If there were anything left here,
I'd tell the magpies to stop
stalking me. I'd whisper to the
moon to kill the tides.
I'd tell the dark to
concentrate,
on fleshing out my outlines.
I'd kiss with my eyes open
and I'd win.
If there were anything left of you,
I'd stuff my mattress up with heather.
Smile at you blankly.
Limit
my goodbyes.
And take five minutes
out of each day,
to forget
your face.
