Give me you said, on our very first night,
the forest. I rose from the bed and went out,
and when I returned, you listened, enthralled,
to the shadowy story I told.

                                            Give me the river,
you asked the next night, then I’ll love you forever.
I slipped from your arms and was gone,
and when I came back, you listened, at dawn,
to the glittering story I told.
            
                                             Give me, you said, the gold
from the sun. A third time, I got up and dressed,
and when I came home, you sprawled on my breast
for the dazzling story I told.

                                             Give me
the hedgerows, give me the fields.
I slid from the warmth of our sheets,
and when I returned, to kiss you from sleep,
you stirred at the story I told.
  
                                               Give me the silvery cold
of the moon. I pulled on my boots and my coat,
but when I came back, moonlight on your throat
outshone the pale story I told.

                                                Give me, you howled,
on our sixth night together, the wind in the trees.
You turned to the wall as I left,
and when I came home, I saw you were deaf
to the blustering story I told.

                                               Give me the sky, all the space
it can hold. I left you, the last night we loved,
and when I returned, you were gone with the gold,
and the silver, the river, the forest, the fields,
and this is the story I’ve told.