I know I have been dreaming. Much earlier, the alarm broke us from each other, you've been at your desk for hours. But I hesitate, and wake. You've kissed my hair to wake me. Indoors I bruise and blunder, break faith, leave ill enough alone, a dead child born in the dark.
Night cracks up over the chimney.
Pity is not your forte. You take it all for granted and when I look you back t's with a starlike eye shooting its cold and egotistical spear where it can do least damage. No hurt, no pardon out here in the cold with you you with your back to the wall. I fall like night softly and terrible only when I must die in order to rise again. I do not come like a secret warrior with an unsheathed sword in my mouth hidden behind my tongue slicing my throat to ribbons of service with a smile while the blood runs down and out through holes in the two sacred mounds on my chest.