Two People Eat Honey

Beyond the window the moon may be in riot With the winter night. But your voice having ceased In the room here, silence comes, barefooted, To cover the leavings of our frugal feast. Your hands rest on the table, clasped, quiet. Kind as a country servant, silence moves About us, with a tender dignity smoothing The unseemly creases in our loves. Your eyes upon me change no more than the rooted Shadow beside your chair. Your eyes know Upon what song this night has locked her throat. The melody trembles toward us, still too low To name, though the music mounts above our breathing, Mounts, and mingles with, far off, a train That pants harshly of journeys. Your eyes upon me. We are alone again.