In the temporary embrace
I speak of eternity.
The wind brings us the calls of the church bells
among the feathers where we rest
our sleepy heads.
It’s morning. Moist air passes
under the viaducts, clouds part
at a touch, buildings at the swallows’ flight,
the farmhands pray for rain that stops,
while the trees give up their leaves
and so the sky grows vaster.
Your hands are soft this morning
and soft is the blossom of the hard almond.
In the nearby church
they have spoken for centuries of a love
that will outlive us.