I am thinking tonight - not reading
or watching, or working the time. Not driving
the long roads.

I am thinking of you.

I know you crouch, at bay in the nightwood.
I know there is frost.

Your heart lurches in the cage of your ribs
and will not lie still.
Your past: the snail its slime.
I know you have cut out,
away, not for the greater world
but the smaller. I know you are close
to the smallest moment, the snatch
at the candle, the fast run for the line.

May the rats
gaze, no more than gaze,
through the loveless night air,
their heavy tails still, their teeth sheathed.

May the reek of phlegm fade;
may you return.