Summoned by conscious recollection, she <br />would be smiling, they might be in a kitchen talking, <br />before or after dinner. But they are in this other room, <br />the window has many small panes, and they are on a couch <br />embracing. He holds her as tightly <br />as he can, she buries herself in his body. <br />Morning, maybe it is evening, light <br />is flowing through the room. Outside, <br />the day is slowly succeeded by night, <br />succeeded by day. The process wobbles wildly <br />and accelerates: weeks, months, years. The light in the room <br />does not change, so it is plain what is happening. <br />They are trying to become one creature, <br />and something will not have it. They are tender <br />with each other, afraid <br />their brief, sharp cries will reconcile them to the moment <br />when they fall away again. So they rub against each other, <br />their mouths dry, then wet, then dry. <br />They feel themselves at the center of a powerful <br />and baffled will. They feel <br />they are an almost animal, <br />washed up on the shore of a world— <br />or huddled against the gate of a garden— <br />to which they can't admit they can never be admitted.<br /><br />Robert Hass<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/misery-and-splendor/
