Late in the Night

Late in the night I dreamed I was to die,

to see through change to the unchanging season

where love is said to live and reign (blue sky

is for the called no less than for the chosen);

my love lay with me softly, murmuring

in sleep of cherished seasons come and gone,

sweet passings which in time soured, corrupting

our hands and lips and eyes.  Who to atone?

Between two worlds I hovered, tried to hedge,

but no scheme came, only the terror in

surrendering what I am, heartbreak serrating

awareness to a raw and mortal edge,

and I, dense tangle of transgressions, waiting

for the dark, the accusation or the grin.

Moore Moran

© 2002; originally printed in The New Criterion.
Reprinted by permission of the author.