I’m leaving. I’m leaving. Come with me please, please come with me. Its rain in the night, its not there, its full, full of anything.  There are spying stars.  There in the motorway there are people in the cars.  I’m leaving hobs turned off and heated, and coffee, stilling and black in the pot and if you come with me or not, I am leaving. This house is crowded, there are ghosts on the stairs, hair in the sink, arsenic in all my ink. We can go to Dover and from there who knows? This ship is sinking. The storm is wet, deaf and warm in our eyes and nostrils, and at the edge of day, light breeds with shade and fumes orange in the dawn.  Every time I light a flame and crackle the leaves in the tubes I am calling up a hunger. Every time I look at you your eyes are smaller, dryer. That point in the air where we marry our gazes is a clearing in the woods. Somewhere. Lets go, lets be going and then lets be gone.  Come away, come with me.