New sun, new rain 
 to dip my fingers in and 
 flick their beads across 
 my thin paper cup, my saucer

 of nocturnal thirst. It feels 
 like weeks, these nights, 
 I've been a sea running scared
 surging with the tide to
 your pale brown eyes,
 finding their way 
 straight through
 to my second light.

 I think we could break 
 each other's hearts, I had 
 said, but they're both 
 already broken. We could 
 skate across
 the ice beneath the moon,
 none less broken
 none less healed.

 I'm a sea 
 running scared
 and I look for your
 reflection 
 in the wet mirrored
 sand, but sometimes
 on mornings like this, 
 your sky turns black
 before the sun goes down

 and we
 try to remember 
 how to cry.





08 june 02
M Madison