David Harsent Poems
From &Quot;A Dream Book&Quot;
Deep reaches of sleep until the unforeseen
moment, like fugue, like petit mal, some kind of sign,
a touch from a joker's finger, to let him know what's right,
what's wrong with the dream-within-a-dream. A sudden, slight
shift in the order of things and all the past undone.
He left what was left of himself in her care that night.
They went to the river and dropped their clothes on the bank.
She struck out. He followed in the long, slow vee of her wake.
She could sound and surface, bringing back with her what
other lovers had dumped: hotel ...