by Robbie Coburn

I am always with you
when it begins to rain.

any given night I could dream
that I was well and never wake up
beside you again.

under the apartment roof
there was one voice,
the blood pooling
as if speaking your name.

I never know when
you are coming back —

you return and hold my body
as I observe the final room I will live in.

writing my final words down
before collecting my bones
and carrying them
to the centre of the bridge.

the urgency of your voice
calling me, always,

leaning across the railing
and casting the pages into the river.