I dreamt that you were lying beside me last night.
You were already sick. You said: I am
of death to the bone. Do you mind you can’t come
in me? Just hold me gently close beside

you. I said: when I saw you, you were so white
and tired – and then invisible, hidden from sight
in a coffin where I walked down the path,
into the rain and the village. Waiting grass

lay next to the hole, the turfs stacked in a pile.
How come you’re here again? You told me why:
I wanted to do what I’d left undone, to lie
beside you in bed and talk together as life.
But what I am now speaks no language we share.

The light wasn’t on. So how could I see you there?
I fell asleep in my dream. While you were hold-
ing me tight. Late in the day, the room was still cold.