(Undoubtedly one of the most tender, poignant, and heartbreaking poems I have ever read. A real literary treasure. I am still lost in the joys of rediscovering America and all the people who thought they would never see their tall, clownish friend again so I have not had time to post my own works, which are being written and edited on bits of paper, ticket stubs, and napkins, as always. I just have to collect and compile and present to you. But until then...)
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Neither the intimacy of your look, your brow fair as a feast day,
nor the favor of your body, still mysterious, reserved, and childlike,
nor what comes to me of your life, settling in words or silence,
will be so mysterious a gift
as the sight of your sleep, enfolded
in the vigil of my arms.
Virgin again, miraculously, by the absolving power of sleep,
quiet and luminous like some happy thing recovered by memory,
you will give me that shore of your life that you yourself do not own.
Cast up into silence
I shall discern that ultimate beach of your being
and see you for the first time, perhaps,
as God must see you -
the fiction of Time destroyed,
free from love, from me.
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