A Poem
A Memory of Dissociation
We kindled a little fireShe played the piano for me for a while, then, as if drowsy, nestled into the chair and closed both eyesI gazed at her absently, wanting to tell her that banks of mist had risen from the sea at nightthose algae, their utterly exhausted breathingand from far out at sea there seemed to come a wondrous, uncanny songtoo many hushed secretsbut alas, I could notI—I could not tell herThe flame sank low, the wood ash fragrantthe wind outside had grown somewhat stilland our hearts were full of ash-white static
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