Your body, in my arms,
nestles to mine:
 groin to groin, legs entwined
 your brow by my lips,
 your breast pressed to my chest.

Swept away by sleep,
attentions you lavished on me
drift into dreams.

Waking, I contemplate
 (ashes to ashes
 dust to dust)
the conditional continuing
of our mingling breath.

Only this I ask of Death:
 that when he finds us,
 he find us like this,
 to wrench us together
 apart from here.

I wonder
 (ashes to ashes
 dust to dust)
if lovers endure beyond death,
if the dead dream indeed.

In a hope,
as tender as scents of spring,
yet sure as winter-seeds
that dream of Easter eruptions,
I continue to hold you.

March 3, 1990