When I woke, it was not skin I felt upon my body. Nighthad fallen over me, I wore the dark. Now the moon might risewithin me. None would see it, but its rising would become the shapemy body has. You lay beside me sleeping, the one sound your breath.If we are anywhere, this is our geography, an airthat is the score of our flesh, an annotation spelling us.I do not think that it was you beside me --: it seemed to me a sound
that was arising from a sea, and I invisible was lyingin the dark beside it, the sea exhaling waves. If the godswere anymore, they would not stoop to speech, but we, when they were intheir ecstasies, would leap into the air, spilling over fromtheir mouths, sufficient words for them to name an order of the world.So you would become the sea, a sea of sacred utterance,and I the hearing of the sea, its answer to the moon in me.
