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He dreamed. Light flickered on
In a room of his past life:
He stood beneath the bulb as
It shone into the dark of
His old apartment. The light
Touched adjoining rooms, and
His half-formed shadow fell
Into them and objects he
Had lost were rendered by it
Softly and he felt the space
Yawn away from him. Where
He stood his hair was afire
With the light but his face was
Obscured. He wandered away.
In the darkest corner of the
Apartment he found the bed.
There was something in it,
A shape, pale and unbright,
And his heart was hammering.
He could not see. Gasoline
Colours played in his vision.
The pale shape on the bed
Drew to him and he smelt the
Musk of hair and sleep and
She touched his arm—still
Drowsy, childlike—Columbine.