Robert Frost


The stars have so far to go alone or in harness across a window pane. Hour after hour tonight I’ve journeyed with them, steady the waves of your breath. Dark space between our beds; on the table a full tumbler splits the light of stars to stars, or floats a column of dead water, dead sky. From centuries off, out of the reign of one of nineteen pharaohs, a planet’s dust, metallic, alive, is sifted down, hovers in a bright arc upon your cheek. Miraculous! I lean across the dark and touch it, you smile in your sleep. How far, how far we’ve come together, tumbling like stars in harness or alone.

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