for my mind is all I have of her,
all I have. She is not in rooms,
carpets or curtains I sing to:
she is my voice. She speaks now
to others while I speak of her,
most body, a stranger’s body
some other creator endowed.
Because once I did not know her
the greater is the miracle.
Air, let her know her body
asleep is as precious as peace.
One wakes in my mind on grey days
when my body turns to the comfort
of weariness and its charms. He
may for all I know awaken
when the day makes audacious darkness.
I have nothing left of him
that this room can bring to life.
He is the end of my life
a long time ago. But these eyes
that see beauty, arms that touch
the immortal, these are he.