04.02.2008

“As our bloods separate” (a poem by David Constantine)

As our bloods separate the clock resumes,
I hear the wind again as our hearts quieten.
We were a ring: the clock ticked round us.
For that time and the wind was deflected.

The clock pecks everything to the bone.
The wind enters through the broken eyes.
Of houses and through their wide mouths
And scatters the ashes from the hearth.

Sleep. Do not let go my hand.

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