Moving into Memory

As long as those last words are never spoken

we can touch each other lightly

and sit here side by side

in the descending sun.

Our hands often creep

into one another's palms:

every other form of seeking

has gone lame or dry.

O dark sunbeam, my night light, my cheer,

brightener of houses, freshener of shade,

the only gift I can be sure to keep

is this reaching and touching.

You will be allowed to keep nothing.

I keep unsure memory, and none.

The piano, glittering under delectable mountains,

has lost its way to the center of the music.

Silence gapes to swallow

the provocations of your laughter.

Though our days together are few,

the thunder of verses

fills a black valley with light

while the wind whistles its own song

from the faraway edge of the glacier.