(no subject)

For the third day ash rains from the sky
It's someone else's ash
Lives burnt far from here and carried by the wind

I dreamed about a woman writing poetry
In the dream I was crying
And by the end we were friends

For the third day the sky is the colour of cement
It's my sky
To which I wake after dreaming of poetry

This morning each muscle is delicate but elusive
My body a stringed instrument
Which I never learned to play

I lie back in bed and pretend
The ash
Is a cage