Interlude

My sweet, 

if on some far-off tonight

you think of me 

where the shade of moonlight

pools on a sea 

of intangible deep

and then, 

if thought keeps 

your body from sleep

as trembling touch lingers 

on over-and-gone

begging with fingers

clenched; empty at dawn

and should want and longing 

of whispers grown cold

interrupt oceans 

in your cup of gold

and if in the quiet 

of past middle-night

you grieve this thing 

that has slipped from your sight

then darling remember, 

that beyond midnight’s sea

tomorrow is waiting 

with what yet will be

© Janet Martin