A Bride

In bed with the stranger who had picked him up,
He lies awake in the dark;
How calmly happy he is feeling.

Thrown by the pattern of holes in the top
Of an old-fashioned paraffin stove, a magic
Cathederal window glows on the ceiling.

Hollow-feeling, empty of sleep and as yet unbreakfasted,
From an already forgotten strangers bed
I stumble out into an unfamiliar part of the town.

So dazzlingly greeted! The sunlight's sudden recognition breaking
Across a row of houses I have never seen;
These shoppers remote as if some distant generation.

World, empty of me as I am of you now,
Let me as of you nothing.
All not seems possible. O let me ask nothing.

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