Last night the lights blew out

one by one into themselves

and darkness came flooding

out of my breath as I slept.

I dreamed we returned to the house 

by the pond, back among those

we loved, alive and dead, not one

living besides yourself and I. 

  

I woke wild-eyed, grasping 

the pre-dawn-light filtering 

through the curtains 

and calmed myself, feeling,

remembering you next to me

all these years, thinking of 

your hand that underneath

the pillow, reaches for mine. 

Today, in this high clear room

cooled by machines, I sit

looking at the world I chose

whispering like shards of glass

piercing my skin. Somewhere,

not too far away you do your work

for the day while I think of home,

the many tasks to organise.

I give you my worn-out breath 

on a tune you will probably not hear 

I give it all I have and take it back again, 

only to return, to what I think I own:

the smiles, the little joys of a life 

worth living, the pointlessness 

of searching for pieces of a heart 

that has been broken over years.

Love translated us across worlds

and now you cannot exactly say

how your love scattered or what made 

you return. Was it music in the soul

or just a void you had to fill? I know

now that whatever you choose to claim

of mine, is yours; it never was mine. 

Whatever remains, I drag alone.