Your feet pound my roads and pavement
running through the night and underpasses,
in convex mirrors you can see around the corners
roadblocks of drugged carcasses.
Hands held and held high like children,
you swing from my arms past stop signs,
past eyes asking where can you be going
and can we come with you this time.
On the outskirts of town the shadows start
to wring your feet dry of pace,
they stumble in my underarms where things
start to grow and the blue lights lose the race.
More than small, you’re fading,
a distant darkness in this distant town.
It is so much quieter now that you have gone,
in the canal are the whispers of the drowned.
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