A house of empty or half-empty rooms
      with vertical windows and curtains that rise
            or fall by breezes too mild to feel ~~
     an undisturbed house where the time is always
            late afternoon and the village bell
                     and evening gloom
      are always a little way off, suspended
            as though by a spell ~~ and the light that falls
            in patterns across the floor and walls
      has come from a day that is never ended.

And once in a while I visit you there,
      where always I see you first from across
           the extent of a spare and spacious room ~~
      wearing, as always, an ivory dress
          and standing where mellowing rays of sun
                envelope your hair
     and soften your face into shade and light ~~
           and, as you approach, I am made aware
           of a reminiscence upon the air,
      a tincture of dew and of violet.

And kissing me faintly upon the cheek,
      you disappear for a time and return
           with a single pear and a book of verse
     and, sitting an hour beside me, you turn
           the pages... and we never converse
                although, as you like,
      I read from the stanzas that you select
           as, all the while, you sit there gazing
          across the harbor where swallows touch wings
      to other swallows the waters reflect.

And later that afternoon, as we sit
      with wine and crescents of orange beside
          the window, involved in a game of chess,
      not a thought is spoken between us ~~ we trade
           maneuvers across the board with glances
                of fencing wit
      until, as I bring my forces to bear
           on your castle wall, my King and his Knights
           succumb to your Queen ~~ you have me to rights,
     and I am left sitting in mock despair.

And though the long afternoon might seem
      a sole and changeless hour, the light
           that saturates all the room grows soft
      and richly golden, compounding our plight
           with sudden remembrance... while rays that sift
                in muted streams
      through the lift and fall of unloosened lace,
           transfigure and veil what I see of you,
           revealing all shades in a single hue,
      and all by a single look on your face.

And still there is nothing that we would name,
      for whether the afternoon will decline
           at length into evening or, as a piece
     of eternity, forever begin
          the moment I see you moving across
                a sunlit room ~~
      and whether our day will endure or die,
           there is nothing that we would speak of here ~~
           above the harbor there dimly appear
     two disparate stars in a darkening sky.