Eventide

Last night
(between the moon’s shadows
and your curtains dark)
the bedded form –
your body next to mine –
so obscure so foreign;
a country never visited,
yet so close.
I leant upon a weakened shoulder
and bent forward to yours,
my lips and heart tracing you
with whispers and with love.
Our silent separate knowing;
one sleeping, one ever distant;
and that shore
so sweet and bright –
as though what passed
has lightly passed again –
sweeping both upon its breast
to the welcoming and certain rest
of lovers once and always.