Mysteriously willingly wakeful, both,
In the before of that late June dawn…
Wearing only skin-soft air
– No more needed in such heaty gloom –
They stepped out carefully silent
To warmly ghost together
Through the Night Garden, for moths now blooming.
Talk, only through touch.
By constellation-crowned flowers
They statued tall and close, dance-poising always
To inhale as one against the indigo
Those other, those darktime-given fragrances.
All shared then,
Their memories would never mislay.
Copyright Christopher Jessop 2020
