DAWN BREAKS
- Mar 14
- 1 min read
By Jeremy Keighley
The acid rain falls
outside a tiny room of bare white bricks,
almost dawn when a flock of red cranes
takes flight
all colour bleached out by the
night-light iced aqua blue
which freezes my tears
as I call ‘take me in your arms,
in your arms
as you did in the lake,
then.’
But my voice is only a smoker’s croak
too faint
under the rattle of
death trains by the window
a lightning bolt above my eyes,
you slip further into the darkness
where the sheet envelops you
and I curl on the bare cold mattress.
The record is scratched
it sticks
endlessly repeating
‘better stop’
until dawn breaks
in the grey dead fish light.