In the quiet of your sleep,
don’t imagine you can slip
past me on a dark night.

I will hear the tiptoe
of your shadow,
the whisper of your breath.

And as the moon draws a line
across a slow sky,
you will hover in my half-dream.

But when your smile touches
my face, I have already
opened my eyes,

interrupting your journey
with memories, not all of these
we’ve shared.

Rowland Hughes ©