I would find a room and sit
looking at the back of my eyelids
for many hours.
But no blindness could be found there.
No corners could be turned.
And no chairs heard.
We went fleeing in the forest
between the trees that were dead
and the counted skeletons
that had turned red.
There was no one about to tell
us to go so we stayed
and smelt the smoke of wood-fire shade
and pre-Raphaelite heat.
The shade then began to get light
and I acted like a foolish man.
We married on a windy night when the
cathedral sign was still on.
