One
Night, One Winter
Sun above the Sunday mist of morning
And I travel in her car to where
Some train shall convey me
Away.
This mist touches - only touches - the tops
Of the trees
And I am caught: aware, expanded
As if I am mist, trees, music, she, me - and Sun.
Enwrapped in your arms there was peace
As we both without words drifted
Into sleep
Her modern music plays
And I am this one, long, moment of perfection
Born of seven night hours, shared.
Then, it is gone as she, me, we smile
As we reach my destination.
No words, no address, nor numbers, exchanged,
Only a kiss and I am gone
Both back to our lives:
She, to her family, I to my dreams...
And yet there is the memory of our moment.
DW Myatt