Later, in the chill of morning, you lie silent, still, as if sculpted from ivory. I look in your eyes and I am lost, lost -- that is sufficient bribery, and enough reward; my soul would cost you nothing more. I will keep this memory, like a scar. Out the window, the trembling rays of the sun gather strength to bully the fading stars. Over the river, the full moon dances; it dances, spins, and sinks behind the trees.
Copyright 1994 Edward Gaillard. All rights reserved.
Author's note: this poem appeared in the Sand River Journal (Issue 7, 1993).