From end to end, long hills
Winding, black and midnight when her voice
Comes shadowing down the sky?
I know her eyes from ages past, and this
A year ago, a day,
Still too wise for the touch.
Her eyes now light in light on dark,
Her voice a silent, known and humming
In my heart only: wider, call and empty.
Her fingers pulse the edges of the sky.
I lose my days in days of days,
I know my time by nights of yes or no,
In going, stepping into dark,
And standing, marking yes or no.
Until my own hands meet once,
And fleeting, learn her place among
the empty spaces I will arrange myself
Among the changes of the dark. I will
Find myself in waiting, forget I wait,
And what is known, unknown. When she is gone,
I am sole and only.
And she will tell me, when she speaks again: the cry
Of stars, the sweet of light, the secret tang of numbers.
When last I sang she smiled, and I will sing again
While all the world and winter rain complete,
Until fleeing has no home but her words,
Last known, last awaited, last spoken, last heard.