The door closes, his footsteps tap
away. The air flows around
her into the corners of the room.
She settles her shoulders and inhales
the quiet lapping at the window.
Noises outside, familiar, interwoven.
She adores him, and he her, they
accompany each other. A sigh
from the chair where he reads:
``What is it?’’ ``Oh, this,’’ and he tells
the idea. A small crash from the kitchen:
``Everything all right?’’ he asks.
``Yes, just a dish.’’ A touch
on the head in passing, hands
clasp in bed. Loving is active,
circling the other, holding each
in joy and fear, retreating
to lie coiled and silent
when they are alone. Love raises
them, stirs them, tires them.
When they are alone, they rest.