Wake me an instant before
your dream flakes,
and before morning coming and going
rises and wakes.
Wake me while the sleeping beds still dally
and the children and the blue valley
and the ebb and the flow of the sea
still pull on your belly.
And let me see the leisurely flow of your hair
and see your brow and the faint furrows there
and hear the flute of lights – and the shadow
that has felt your cello.
Wake me before the nightwitchery´s gone
and surrenders the drunken room –
and let me relish how deep gloom
has been drinking its best wine.
Let me feel your mouth beginning its caress
and the apple tree efflorescing,
and your lap stirring again with some fresh
starlight and nakedness.