You weren't well or really ill yet either; <br />just a little tired, your handsomeness <br />tinged by grief or anticipation, which brought <br />to your face a thoughtful, deepening grace. <br /> <br />I didn't for a moment doubt you were dead. <br />I knew that to be true still, even in the dream. <br />You'd been out--at work maybe?-- <br />having a good day, almost energetic. <br /> <br />We seemed to be moving from some old house <br />where we'd lived, boxes everywhere, things <br />in disarray: that was the story of my dream, <br />but even asleep I was shocked out of the narrative <br /> <br />by your face, the physical fact of your face: <br />inches from mine, smooth-shaven, loving, alert. <br />Why so difficult, remembering the actual look <br />of you? Without a photograph, without strain? <br /> <br />So when I saw your unguarded, reliable face, <br />your unmistakable gaze opening all the warmth <br />and clarity of you--warm brown tea--we held <br />each other for the time the dream allowed. <br /> <br />Bless you. You came back, so I could see you <br />once more, plainly, so I could rest against you <br />without thinking this happiness lessened anything, <br />without thinking you were alive again.<br /><br />Mark Doty<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-embrace/
