how low the dark horse stoops
 flying th'invisible course
 twixt night and death
 that her eternal cargo spills
 into the upturned mouth
 of the sleeping millions
 and those waiting for the last
 low boat to heave into view

 you did not feel the perilous edge
 standing there, listening
 you could not know the names

 waking baptized in sweat,
 shaking, still animal,
 what did I say to you
 half-shaped and mingled,
 stirring dust

 our nights were numbered like gods' whispers
 I do not know when Zeus gave birth to Athena
 if it was before or after he lay with Aphrodite
 or whether it was not some other god
 or a crippled man

 and I find I cannot remember how long
 or where or why we took those forms,
 for love, from need, or just because
 the garden needed a man and a woman

 desire dances circles around me here,
 and so fast that the meaning of those glances
 travels backward, uncertain and uncertainter
 the more I see their future

 and the old mare reclaims
 by night and death
 the sureness I once stole
 unawares, and spoke to you