Fetch

I
I arrive only in part. The melding sky
washing blue and red could be sunrise
and could be sunset. He looks like crying,
but he won’t yet. My task needs nothing of me
but my face, I have nothing else to give.
The limbs that brought me here ache
but it doesn’t matter. They’ll stop soon
and this form’s not mine, only borrowed.

                                       II

I saw her then, lurking in the lilac light: my double. Expressionless and monochrome but with the violet sheen, of a photograph badly scanned. Sighting at evening means a death is soon, morning is for long life. ‘Fetch’ may come from the sense of fetching one onward. Well, my psychopomp, tell me: Where will the two of us go?