John
Adlam

In my dream-crossings

       I slipstream the ghost-

       ship of your absence

       through uncharted oceans –

       disembarking at dawn

       to the swim of water

       reflected from sun-

       splashed walls – then,

       liquid on cold grey bone,

       a porcelain dish of pears

       like opaleye and bluefish

       rippling, an aquarium

       of myrtle and viridian

       and wild turquoise lights –

       a safety signal, perhaps,

       some sign of life.