Lying apart now,each in a separate bed
He with a book keeping the light on late
She like a girl dreaming of childhood
All men elsewhere - it is as if they wait Some new event:
The book he holds unread
Her eyes fixed on the shadows overhead
Tossed up like flotsam from a former passion
How cool they lie.They hardly ever touch
Or if they do, it is like a confession
Of having little feeling - or too much
Chastity faces them a destination
For which their whole lives were a preparation
Strangely apart, yet strangely close together
Silence between them like a thread to hold
And not wind in. And time itself's a feather,Touching them gently
Do they know they're old
These two who are my father and my mother
Whose fire from which I came,has now grown cold?