When you go

When you go, 
if you go, 
and I should want to die, 
there’s nothing I’d be saved by 
more than the time
you fell asleep in my arms
in a trust so gentle
I let the darkening room 
drink up the evening, till
rest, or the new rain
lightly roused you awake.
I asked if you heard the rain in your dream
and half dreaming still you only said, I love you.

- Edwin Morgan

The man who named my narrow bed was a quiet person, but he had good questions.
“I suppose you do love me, in your way,” 
I said to him one night close to dawn when we lay on the narrow bed. 
“And how else should I love you—in your way?” he asked. 
I am still thinking about that.

- Anne Carson
From Plainwater: Essays and Poetry