She is asleep: one breast, uncovered,
records her breathing. Under the lamp
I remain watchful – my mind divided,
from breast to book the eye wandering –
soon to close the pages lest the rustling
disturb her senses slumbering.
And I rise from bed: midnights like these,
with mind alert after love, surely
guide the full spirit toward discovery,
clear-eyed wisdom reviewing the day,
the month, the seasons; recalling the events,
the full-flowered blossoming of all my years.
Lids closed, the eyes are watchful; the brain
carefully stalks the thought like a tiger
following the accurately-scented prey
through tangled jungle foliage.
The way
to certainty is charted now,
the sensitive ears alive to sound,
antennae poised for touch, and in the head
all tissue quivering like violin strings.
Before the hour demands surrender,
before the body tires, I see all friends
wonderfully perfect, and the earth changed
to match the works, desires of my days;
loving all men and mankind, and the world
unblemished as her rising-falling breast.
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