Remember the days of our first happiness, <br />how strong we were, how dazed by passion, <br />lying all day, then all night in the narrow bed, <br />sleeping there, eating there too: it was summer, <br />it seemed everything had ripened <br />at once. And so hot we lay completely uncovered. <br />Sometimes the wind rose; a willow brushed the window. <br /> <br />But we were lost in a way, didn't you feel that? <br />The bed was like a raft; I felt us drifting <br />far from our natures, toward a place where we'd discover nothing. <br />First the sun, then the moon, in fragments, <br />stone through the willow. <br />Things anyone could see. <br /> <br />Then the circles closed. Slowly the nights grew cool; <br />the pendant leaves of the willow <br />yellowed and fell. And in each of us began <br />a deep isolation, though we never spoke of this, <br />of the absence of regret. <br />We were artists again, my husband. <br />We could resume the journey. <br /> <br /> <br />Anonymous submission.<br /><br />Louise Gluck<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/summer-3/
