Through Squalls in the Dead of the Night
Through squalls in the dead of the night,
rising and falling at sea, moored fearlessly to you.
Through the rain, through the waves,
only hushed solace remains.
You and I both know that I will not go on,
that every morning
my brain crumbles into three pieces:
one for me to treasure,
one for you to keep inside your pocket
and one for longing.
Together we lay,
washed with the ebb and flow of candle light.
That glow, that to-and-fro,
swelling and shrinking in the darkness.
