Every poem has a secret addressee. Every secret
a shoreline. Mine loosens
like a tooth.
I wake to three knocks. Three times no one
there. Knocks echo through an empty house until
I am empty of dreams.
An owl at noon means death. Your death
eyeing me, still, from a tree
one leafless noon.
See yourself in a dream: you are soon
to die. Seeing you without me, in a dream, I knew
you could survive.
Tumble of wings into pane. A wrecked bird
huddled on the ledge, looking in. Your eyes
closed against pain.
Nothing to say, as when words lose their letters
in winter. Letters’ spines dismantle
in my silent hand.
I hear your name in a dream of sea. Dream
my secrets fall from my mouth, braced
neat as pearls.
Broken mirror, spilt salt, opened
umbrella. Salt rain broke and I thought no
harm could come to you.
Never rock an empty chair. Your empty
room, fulcrum of consolation
and despair.
A sailor with an earring cannot drown. Drownless
in the hold of your sea cradle,
distant as shoreline.
