The two brothers,
Mist and Fog.
Eerily suspended,
hover above
the barn.
It is not time as yet
for the birds
to unfluff,
nor for the rabbit
to squeeze
under the garden fence.
Your warmth wakes me.
Your fragrant skin
is close,
and patient.
A sleepy hand
wanders,
with cunning
and purpose,
where the welcome
singes its tiny hairs.
'Yes',
mumble lips,
drunken with slumber
and drooling with promise.
Cushions,
rumpled
by the wisdom
of the past,
starched
by last night's love
and yet ready
for much.
Pillows,
one idle,
lonely,
caressing for two,
and
cradling spirits.
Moulding.
Holding.
Current
exchanged
and rising
to unknown heights.
Mist and Fog,
peeking
around the rafters
of our entanglements,
floating, nodding,
curling the smallest ones
and
smoothing the wetstone.
Welcome, Dew!
Faintly,
the creek,
also untiring,
murmuring
and flowing
to the end of time.
For us.
For YOU (who owns the other pillow)
Herbert Nehrlich
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/before-dawn-2/
