Now you are gone
your small perfections inveigle me:
curve of your eye-lid closed in sleep
widens to my horizon.
I used to watch those pupils move,
shifting deltas of blue veins,
blindly scanning my face.
Some nights I came near,
my lips in touch
with your pulsing lids
to catch the drift of your dream.
from the sequence 'The Going' in Mortal Fire: A Selected Poems (Agenda Editions, 1976), copyright © Peter Dale 1976, used by permission of the author and Anvil Press.