Midnight Mining
by D. K. Sterling

Head heavy
with liquid mercury,
a dented pillow
pinned beneath

in crumpled red
cotton having given up
the ghost of wanting.

In sleep, I'd been dredging
the last time
you carefully concealed
your shovel in the darkness
of my room.

Under the bed
coal stones pressed into
perfect shapes of arrowheads;

edges caught in dampness
of bitter dust
and disappointment;

trailing regret
across the floor
in spatters leading
to the window...

your oil and water
seeping through.