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  • Writer's pictureWilliam I. Atkinson

For My Wife

Last night I wandered through the moon’s deep dust, Flung far across an intervening void By wan Diana, clad in waxen robes; The velvet stripes that lay along the lawns And gravel paths, a silent tranquil sea; Dust-fragments floating in the navy air As stars. What should I think of in this night Filled up with nightjars’ jasmine-scented songs But you, my light-haired lady? Should your smile Be suddenly unfurled, these pale vignettes Would vanish in that bright epiphany As dreams dissolve in sunshine. Therefore be A memory only in my quiet times; Your presence is too strong for subtleties.

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