Grave


The lovers are taking it slow. They are drawing out
the days of nothingness, making them last.

Who will be the first to go? Who dares to answer
such questions? The lovers in church are praying

only for each other. They are tracing the edge
of the shore with their footprints. What have they

done that they have not yet been forgiven for?
There is still time to replace the curtains,

to oil the gate so it may close again without
crying. Now is the moment. The lovers know this

as they head home now, evening drawing
their bodies closer, slowing their steps

at a momentous pace, as words fold away
into the spaces even memory cannot reach.

from Tilting Our Plates To Catch The Light

Click here for a translation by Masud Khan of this poem,
as well as of Here and Do You Still Dream Of That Night.


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