The Vanishing

tremor of light: the sky, a porcelain wall

landing at Heathrow a tuesday in the fall

you are sleeping next to me

i just let go your hand

i hope i can go through with this

i hope you understand

i leave you dreaming in row 12

run quickly down the escalator

at customs i am first in line

you wake now-its three minutes later

i am gone

m40, night. London, a blur behind me

leave from Heathrow at dawn

no one will ever find me

you will look for five more days

you will trawl the city night

then youll make yourself forget me

ill fade into the halflight

i am gone....