That morning we woke to soft blue light of dogbreath
And your eyes, dark with sleep,
Closed again in a long rowing motion
Like a mountain shuffling through a saraband...
But the clanging of guitars in the woods kept me awake,
And in our garden, frost had burnished the copper leaves
A sugary-powdery death-dusting
From a long-fingered transparent hand,
Against my ear I felt the chill scrape of
Autumn's lips chapped black with the dry air--
And in their boxes I could hear them thumping,
The children of the sun locked in gladness,
And I touched you and woke you
So we decided to dismantle the piano.
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