The night would not give in to me –
or something inside me would not yield.
The great harness of love I was wearing
stiffened in my shoulders, was held like a bit
between my teeth.
I woke and the moon was there,
her old romance of self-reliance and inconstancy.
And though my children in their turn
woke up to frantic dreams, were held,
brought back to bed,
she was there, her face full with a fierce singing.
And the dark again became a place
of sleep, a wild thing cohabiting.