When midnight's clear before you
The space between the sounds of night
Is full of shadows
Cast ahead of time,
So that words spoken, images
Floating, have their signposts -
The empty silvered glass
Waiting for the cool touch
Of the face of woman's noon.
The silent bed groaning
With future acts of love.
Breughel's hunters setting out time and again
Over the fireplace
On every new tomorrow.
The honeyed cries of owls
Heard again in these forests of printed words.
The dark itself between the lines
Revealed in double meanings,
But I all alone but for my breathing
Gather in this room, this faceless world,
This knowing darkness,
For the toll of future memory.