We fall back from making love
to noticing things
like the kind of day it is—
it was a kind of vision
to be blind to the world.
We have still to know
that time gives to bronze
a certain beauty and hardship.
It was bedtime,
it mattered what we did,
if I enter you or not—
kissing you before and now,
changes us and the world.
What time does
to this morning’s lovemaking
it does to ancient marble,
turns it golden,
the colors wash away.
Darkness and light
crack and break,
lie with us in darkness,
fixed in our idea of beauty,
with the sweet present of touch,
smell, and taste.
—1998