The night was still far.

No disorder,

just a steady anxiety that tries.

A present incongruity

but security nonetheless.

An appeasing warmth,

more than embracing vines,

bathing sighs,

it rested there.

Enveloping as the tender signs of dawn,

beset, it lies.

All weight passes,

retreats to flight.

Wishing for eternity to be

as sweet as this:

you close enough to feel blood beat

to hear air move.

As passionately tranquil as this:

having all the worlds resting in my arms.

And I watched you sleep,

cradled, and still.

January 2001

for my love