IX
TWO MORNINGS
1

I stood by myself in a failing field
      an ocean of withering planks
emptying themselves of wheat
      like dust from off a glass.
            
I saw I was alone and so
      entirely afraid
came to a place of comfort here
      where moondark petals lay.
 
We'd woken early all in frost
      upon a hidden hill
sloping to a bank of moss
      like water in a mill.
 
The touch of morning cracked the brush
      turned all our lanterns cold
forgave the moon its foolery
      and dried the petals gold.
 
2
We two in the opening morning
​unfurled as maps on the table—continent 
each reaching rocky limbs to Pangaea.
 
Again find currents long sore lost
to time, chance—in worlds
of stone with unchanging moons.
Twin yourself to me, for all
I've given yet would I give it new
all lost would lose again—no other 
take, fear of night and all memory
of ill way and weather give,
the depths of the sea are hungry
and I know no other voice to call me home.