ne parcas nec sperens
Sleeping hand to mouth, we’ve celebrated
our summer’s fullness by a quiet river
beneath stars, poplars and a thin sliver
of new moon. The Windrush slides past, freighted
with weed and tadpoles, sleek with summer’s wealth.
And you are full of me and a new life
begins here in the dark. Displeasure’s spurned
by your breathing: in, then fast expelled.
Your breath slows on my hand, forebears. You’ve learned
to hold your body empty. What huge event
do heart and lungs await, breath bated, spent,
to welcome light and air? I should ask. I,
who’ve turned away love, turn now to fill my
mouth with kisses, our bodies with new life.