The Sound of Her: an alba or aubade
Below the quiet hum the waking world makes
as earth turns slowly sun-ward each new day,
before the civil bustle starts in earnest
and clutters the ear’s palette with its play,
in those few silent moments, as I lay still
beside her sleeping form, just listening
in awe to the low murmur of her breathing,
I hear the universe begin and end.
Not much, nor of much weight, these precious seconds;
and yet, to me their worth is beyond price:
what mere religion claims to be worth worship,
what lesser dreams enshrine as paradise.
05 NOV 2010
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