A night of sifting rain
across the mountain crest;
the lampshade casts a muted
saffron cone; in this wide
bed alone I'm conscious
of a friendly host of lovers
who have gone before and left
no trace - except this faint
sensation, warmth that moves
across my face, along my limbs
more tenderly than lips or finger-
tips, to pass without resistance
through the saffron safety-zone
of light and linger at the threshold,
comforting, incorporeal:
the ghost of joy within these walls
that eddies gently in my dreams,
so that I wake in peace and grace,
and never quite alone.
The Company at Abydos
© Copyright: Jena Woodhouse, 2003
Свидетельство о публикации №103031000919
Свидетельство о публикации №103031000919
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