A rented room:
dark enough for shadows to stand against
the warmth of orange light.
up so early that night is like a hot breath
on broken sleep.
Dogs bark. (Were there crickets too?)
take soft steps across our soon-to-be-left room.
And that’s when I see you:
naked in this half light.
you bend to dress,
careless of the effect.
But I, your wife,
(who, happily, messily, in real time,
have made a hundred wrestled, restless shapes
to taste your sweat and wear your face)
I stand now, startled –
moved like a new voyeur to beauty.
But this breath, this beat –
this shift to timeless in the Balkan heat-
is not cast in alabaster.
You stand straight, pull on your jeans,
move a step closer to our flight.
We kiss then, quickly, quietly.
Then soothe awake sleep-muffled girls.