To awaken with her, this dream
to begin days, days full and ripe
whose mornings already pour gold
just like this one, this, on which I dream,
and say to the gold in my window,
I finally understand you, when she lies by me
when I hold her, her breath
when my hands are once more sure
of what they must curve to hold,
to hold her form in the mornings, early,
when the days bear her soft name,
this gold reaches its goal.
I’d like to dream, dream for years,
study the alchemy of morning light,
and on those days that are fully ours,
not to awaken empty-handed.