Give them ice for their fevers:

May 17, 2011 § Leave a comment

all the silver girls working on their black dreams
Shalott is brimming with their weaves

I’ve never had the chance to colour it- all the year leaving on a ship

eating rinds of clementines

dear, dear breed of tar-nighted twos and threes
there’s only one for me

there’s only one for me

and he comes when I’m asleep
I never when I am

because I’m not
hailshine

nor the other: I am the fear

it visits in the attic and taps too high
for the floor for hear
words

I return flush-cheeked and free to a line

beyond it a still flies

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