Vigil II (what came next)

I may shatter on this precipice

between these weary, restless whites of doors and beds

and hours and hours sat staring at your dead white face,

willing you to wake.  After two days

you start to toss and shout, slick body torqued in sheets.

Just once your eyes break open, shriek – GET -

 FUCK – GET OFF ME –

 - You’re gone again.  Late night

blows over empty cobbles, cold

and spreads the stars in space.

Lack of sleep like radiation burns the shadows into place.

Over your face

the freckles fall, like spots of mould

up a damp white wall.  I watch

I hope you wake.