I've Got No Time And So Much To Say

It rained the day you left.
Late, I woke running.
I ran the three miles to the station,
feet legs arms automatic, left right swing,
though your bike-tracks were frozen in the lane,
churned-up slush of ice and mud,
improbable art, cold dirt sculptures.

It rained the day you left.
Wet metal of the city streets barred
The shortest routes
I am no superhero, I gasped
Snatched breath beside screaming pebbledash

It rained the day you left.
Stick men, women, a Lowry painting
Saw you, billowed steam of your breath
You turned to me with hateful
Hope in your rain-grey eyes.

Mechanical, rounded the final corner
Felt the soldering dissolve
And components fall strewn upon concrete
My soul one big bruise.

It rained the day you left.
Despairing, I crouched, straddling track
Collecting sky-sorrow in sore cupped hands.
The you I knew was gone; you never knew.

And through the rain veil you must have seen
My pathetic reflection
As train pulled out of station
Flashing stripes of dark and light
Gathering speed. You pressed your palm
To the smeared glass

A snatch of word on a napkin
Footnote to a tragedy

It rained once you had left.
The ink blurred dark as blood
And your final secret

Came apart between my fingers.