tiny words

[theashesstir]

at first she'll have called you lover
and loved the new cachet of your name,
and looked for the face that you saw
in the windows' reflections
as they shuddered past the night.
That night she will survey her pupils
at length, to see if it's true and if
you have, and if you could - and if
your phosphorescence there remains
to console the synaptic welt of another world -
of, a tiny curling - that is now unfurling.

and you, with Brendan, out of shadow -
are utterly away
when her bus rides out to dawn,
too nauseous to meet the sun.