I am two hands carrying warmth:
I am nothing else. I bring the evening,
the illuminations of sleep; I am
the outrider of dreams.
I am an emanation of the Moon,
of the light that remains
when gaudy drunken daytime
Bangs the light switch. Lurches away.
Then the eyes adjust,
and the wide healing dark flows back into the room
and the shadow light of the new moon
comes where it is invited, leaves dark
what wants to be dark. My hands rise and fall
with your sternum and your belly, breathing
in time with your heart, following the blood
where it leaps to the surface and dives,
where it comes to the turning point
at the finger-ends and the toe-ends,
the tidemark. Respiration. The whole body
breathes, not just the lungs.
I am the light of darkness,
the breath of the blood;
I am what is left when the worrying stops,
when the wanting drains away.