I need these dark waves pulsing in my sleep.
How else make up for the pungency
of that carnation’s breath freshened over us,
night on night? Just to lie next to love
was to have the garden in all its seasons.
I see that now. Gently, and without
the false lustre of pain meant to tempt
memory into crushed fragrance.
— Tess Gallagher, from “Ebony,” Moon Crossing Bridge (Graywolf Press, 1992)