Awakening
this morning
after the first night of being loved
I heard a disillusioned moth
flapping at the window glass
trying to reach the morning sunlight.
And the sun,
long fingers of it,
came through the window
picking out the dust in special corners.

In the pre-dawn hours
                     lying together
all arms and legs and breathing
with the rain not so far away
and morning coming too soon
I hoped never to see the sun again.
                       And now
your face and the sun
have made this room
with only ceiling sky
and avenues of sunlit dust
beautiful.