We were fresh from the magician’s

            What we didn’t see we knew

            Explained the knives and handkerchiefs,

            The ace of spades

            Before the long last leg of our way home

            We paused to rest beside a gentle brook

            Within the woods

            I closed my eyes, afraid to gaze above me

            As we lay, 

            Not of the web of leaves and branches,

            Nor of broken light or fleeing clouds  

            I couldn’t say 

            Until she rose and knelt 

            And at the water’s edge

            The strong cupped hands she lifted to her lips

            Began to waver on the surface of the stream

            Then I reflected 

            As I drank her in

            How much I read into the look of things,

            How much was there,

            How much was borne away