All around me, toppled strangers
sleep like children: undefended fortresses,

open mouths. There are mountains traveling
beneath us, massive folds of bodies

robed by snow. I could count a thousand trees,
delicate fringe round the mouths

of lakes; from here it is suddenly clear
how many roads there are,

how they lead everywhere; the slopes appear supple,
endearing; the cities too, elaborate and harmless,

the cars industrious as ants,
the red roofs of the tiny houses,

turquoise swimming pools like stones
set into the jewelry of the world.

I can’t see pain from here; I can’t see you, my far
darling of darlings — not your need of me,

not your need to be free of me. From here,
I think, I can love you like water,

beautiful and speechless in its tides.