Your betrayal was not your departure,

Not the violence of the oars,

But leaving me where I could not forget. 

 

I awoke, palms down on a lone sand,

All eyes and mouth, to find the hawsers 

Massacred, and you gone without a sound.

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No footfall or the folding in of a farewell, 

Only a mute blue plinth with no epitaph 

And the sky gaping at its own wound.

 

Under a moon with a scythe for a smile, 

The waves mantle and unearth my feet. 

Angered by memory, rust forgets how to sleep. 

 

At night, your valleys return,

I place an ear to the earth and hear 

Your runes move in a stone-eyed dark. 

 

Love looks up at an adamantine sea, 

And believes it can walk on water.

All my prophecies have grown wings,

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I am calling them in wind-tongued,

Rush-voiced, my creances winding 

Nooses and cradles around my wrists.