Thirst, and: To Wisdom

Thirst

We argue then love then sleep
and before dawn I wake
reach for the glass on the floor
and as I drink you turn to me
just visible nude in smoky grays
ashen blues I ask if you're thirsty
and you unsmiling nod
lift on one elbow your body
still molded mostly of sleep
grasp the glass which I hold
till again you nod then I let go
watch you drink closed eyed
just enough of you dredged awake
to do this one thing well

At Gettysburg the night between
the battles of July third and fourth
men of both sides climb down to
a tree-hung spring to dip canteens
and buckets drink from their hands'
dirty cups splash powder-burned cheeks
as in low voices they joke and before
creeping back to sleepless camps
promise to meet in tomorrow's fight

In our moonless night still mostly
uncurdled by day nothing moves
that we can hear no screams of wounded
left on the shell-ploughed field
no far rattle of rifles
coughs of nervous horses

Into my opened hand you push the glass
I place it half unfilled carefully
between clock and book and lie back
Your arm bends over my chest
your leg across my thighs
Stopped in mid-charge from this trench
of fear and sleep we fall back now in rest
body on body unsure of our loyalties
to these uniforms of sex but knowing
this night who the enemy is not

To Wisdom

Already suspecting you will again
go missing from anything I say
and knowing a critical distance is best
I can now behind your own back
thank you for taking so long
for visiting first so many others
practicing on them your ever shorter
ever simpler lines until you are so clear
even I can understand even as
in the long meanwhile I still
find myself without you