E n   P a s s a n t
 
The way you speak to me
Across these miles of milky starlight
Is also magic, poetry, prayer.
The way you hold my face in your hands
After we have goodnighted,
(Don't think I don't feel that.)

You need not
Beam yourself
In mortal form,
Muscularly plundering
Hospitals, courtrooms, bars
To beat up old boyfriends
Who were selfish, unfaithful,
Who blackened my sky
With an unkindness of ravens.

You look at me
As if our riddle
Were about to unwind
As if the key hidden
Beneath the stone horse at your door
Would also unlock mine.

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