I’m here now where you were.
The summer grass under my palms is your hair.
Your taste is the living air.

I lie on my back. Two juggling butterflies are your smile.
The heathery breath of the moors simply your smell.
Your name sounds on the coded voice of the bell.

I’ll go nowhere you’ve not.
The bleached dip in a creature’s bone’s your throat.
That high lark, whatever it was you thought.

And this ridged stone your hand in mine,
and the curve of the turning earth your spine,
and the swooning bees besotted with flowers your tune.

I get up and walk. The dozing hillside is your dreaming head.
The cobblestones are every word you said.
The grave I kneel beside, only your bed.