I keep the subject of my inquiry constantly before me, and wait till the first dawning opens gradually, little by little, into a full and clear light.
Noon, you turn this room to twilight
closing shutters so the sun
can slip through one hole
and become a slender spine.
Last night your fingers rubbed
a different kind, the reed of a woman’s back
as I floated beneath candlelight.
Your touch was cold from probing
metal spheres and clocks. They tracked
your journey to an evening star.
Slowly, your hand relinquished
the weight of numbers
and fell toward the flesh.
You satisfied a woman, stroked
my sheer whiteness, its tone familiar
not strange like the bridal beam
of light you now court, calculate
with a master’s eye.
I have left some apples on a tray,
though your hunger is beyond food.
Both are polished ; so if you slice the fruit,
please think of me.
I have dusted everything
with a night dress and laid
my reflection on cool silver.