Jumbled with you in a five-AM embrace,
I lacked words to say, love, how I’d just dreamt
Of coming home one night to find you dead,
And of grief then hunting me through a maze
Of bleached-out, neverending nothingscapes;
But as light through parted curtains revealed
The impatient day outside, I prolonged my hold
As if to prove you mine and not the grave’s.
Lovers long married seldom talk of death,
And if they do, only with an awkward air
Suiting scenarios never run through before,
And this is wise: for how should they confess
Waking to know themselves rehearsed to lose
The still-dreaming spouses they clasp so close?