9.16
(30 votes)
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Clearer than the reasons why we take or let
it curls like a subtle wavelet, this ringlet
across the other pillow, in the fresh dent
where your head lay – a casual fragment
of what washed up beside me in the night
Your body, now gone, a stolen mystery
(did you rise like Lazarus, triumphantly?)
left proof of passing in slight sensory
traces: damp, scent, a mundane history
of what bodies do in dream’s dark light
Dawn betrays the tortured rest you wrent
not just in this small token, unwittingly lent
slender follicle loosened from off your crest
but here, in their furrows, sheets speak conquest
of all you sought to quench in burrowing
I could follow your thoughts along these lines
through the shape of the pillow’s pantomime:
how your weary head would not disturb mine
so even in your stealing there is no crime
only a rummage for tenderness borrowing
And if I gave sustenance without thinking
a communion of presence from within sinking
consciousness, can I blame you for taking
if briefly, a place in this bed of our making?
Debts demand payment, you rose before light
in your brusk stay and departure there is no slight
no matter for justice, only love needs some sight
more than trace evidence of your needs in the night
------ "All the darkness in the world
cannot put out the light
of one candle"
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