In Dreams
– Ian Hamilton
To live like this:
One hand in yours, the other
Murderously cold; one eye
Pretending to watch over you,
The other blind.
We live in dreams:
These sentimental afternoons,
These silent vows,
How we would starve without them.
Retreat
– Ian Hamilton
A minute pulsation of blood-red
Invades one corner of your wounded eye.
You hear it throb
In perfect harmony with our despair
And I’m no comfort to you anymore.
Agitation of hands. Strength of words. 