“Why, without pity on these studious ghosts,
do you come dripping in your hair from sleep?” – Wallace Stevens
Whenever you come back – wet and streaming
so that I always wonder where it is you’ve been,
I can’t work out whether it’s that I’m dreaming
or you’ve found a return path from the unseen.
Whichever it is, it only exists between REM sleep
and returning to the inextricable abyss of waking.
Whenever I’m pulled or extracted from that deep,
I’m back in a protracted abyss of my own making.
Where you only live on because “energy isn’t lost”,
as if consolation could come from that futile ghost.
Adam Lee lives and works as a bid writer in Manchester. Over the years he has studied 18th c. English Literature, Psychology and History. His poetry is largely concerned with time, death, loss, resurrection and renewal.