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Eclipse of the Moon

had ended, and here in this bare room
lies each love my mind longs for.
I am awed by the simplicity
after the covering and groping.
One woke earlier than I, and ate
a bowl of little hard-toothed things
to make her eyes clear, I see.
Her day is sweeping, making order
into an empty house, remembering
with sudden glee the childhood of the rain.
Rain at my window, drops like babies,
bring her the joy of peace.
One sleeps, straight and flat
in cool sheets. Voices linger beside
her dreams, and in her arms rustle
pictures of all she loves.
When she wakes she will be far from me
when she wakes alone. Stars tonight,
shine through her window, that she
may know the smallness of life
she speaks of often, and bring her
the greatest joy of living.
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One wakes when I have wakened
for my mind is all I have of her,
all I have. She is not in rooms,
carpets or curtains I sing to:
she is my voice. She speaks now
to others while I speak of her,
most body, a stranger‘s body
some other creator endowed.
Because once I did not know her
the greater is the miracle.
Air, let her know her body
asleep is as precious as peace.
One wakes in my mind on grey days
when my body turns to the comfort
of weariness and its charms. He
may for all I know awaken
when the day makes audacious darkness.
I have nothing left of him
that this room can bring to life.
He is the end of my life
a long time ago. But these eyes
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