Night’s Cradle

You wake in the cradle of night

as the moonlight pools around us,

our bed a sanctuary in the dim light,

its own universe in these still hours,

as the world at its edges fades away,

you and I remain, and I wake with you,

feeling your warmth pulse in my embrace.

You pull away in the soft breath of night

stretching forward and into that pose,

the one with which you attempt to ease

back into the peace of slumber, when it is

mitigated by what has accumulated,

all the years of searching manifesting

in the insomnia which disrupts your rest.

You stretch your arms and reach

beyond your heels, as you attempt

to release its hold, to shake it off, as if

brushing away the sediment and the past

from this moment and from this night;

I sit up, caress and massage you,

kiss the contour of your back.

You wrestle with the night for its blessing,

as I wrestle against sleep to hold you,

to be your company in these moments,

to be your comfort in these still hours,

to love you as you always deserved.

If I could alchemize the ashes and the past,

supplant and transform them, exchanging

everything before here, this moment with you,

for an earlier beginning of us, so as light pools

we could sleep peacefully in each other’s arms,

having no memory other than these always

being the moments we most look forward to.

As the light continues its vain crusades,

spilling, still, through the window’s frame,

and you continue to stretch, reaching towards

that unfamiliar ideal; the remnants of memories

before you or I were capable of remembering,

sustain the susurrations of our hearts, and I

edge myself closer to hold you.

You retire your pose at this late hour, returning

to the position in which you enter your slumber.

You nuzzle yourself into me, and I hold you close,

my arms healing in the warmth of your pulse;

I trace your silhouette in the moon’s glow, breathe

in your scent, your breath, and feel a sense of home,

knowing this is where we should have always been.

You place your hand in mine and our fingers interlock

firmly, a promise to never let go, and I think of lifetimes,

of the lifetimes lived within the span of this one and

how if I were allowed to choose between them, to

choose the one I could stretch infinitely and pull back

to the moment after my first gasp, my first breath,

I would choose the one that contains you, always.

In the night’s soft whisper, the moon’s light spilling

around the space we share, I think of when the sun froze,

and if I could, I would hold the moon in place,

I would keep it from marking time and its passing,

I would hold you, here, in the moon’s light, forever.