Snapshot of a Marriage
       

Returning late, he sees her silhouetted
in the landing window, an awkward
pieta with duvet that fills the frame.

By day she knows the measure of the boards
she treads; by night she dreams new storeys,
stairs that rise to meet her.

At his fold-out desk he draws the house
turreted. She can see herself in it, knows
he'd lift her across the threshold

if she'd only trust as a sleepwalker does
the candle she cups blindly, caught
light-fingered in its living flame.

Tweet

Copyright © 2017 Jane Griffiths All rights reserved
from Silent in Finisterre
Bloodaxe Books
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission