Even in this darkness I see a light inside of me.

I see an orange sun

rise above the sea,

or is it setting?

I see it turn the water red.

I see it gleaming over ripples.

I see a beach where I am standing,

looking out beyond horizons,

then looking back

to where my footsteps in the sand have brought me.

I see gulls gliding high above the water

dive

then rise

lifting what I cannot see.

Looking there into the light,

I see a candle dripping wax.

I see my hand above the fire,

the flame glowing in her eyes.

I feel the heat on my palms

and breathe the incense.

I feel its fragrance enter me.

I see our bed, the empty pillow

where our heads would lie.

I see her breasts in the dimness,

the nipples I want to kiss.

I see the light at dusk.

I see summer afternoons.

I see us lying in the grass

beneath the cypress

making love with just our words—

listening to our hearts,

our tears embracing,

our kisses, our smiles

sweeter than butter.

And almost every night,

again and again in darkness,

I’m coming home,

each footstep

taking me to where she’s standing

in our doorway.

I see beneath her skirt,

her bare feet running towards the gate.

I’m on my knees,

my arms around her thighs.

the sunlight glowing on her hair.

Inside the table is set.

Two candles burning there.

And there are times

I see the swallows flying

to their home beneath our roof.

I see their wings,

their twig like feet.

I hear them calling me

to fly with them

through darkness

past the orange sun.