The Fourth Poem

This is the fourth poem
In which I have lived with you
Without passion,
Language leaving us in silence.

Now, early morning
As the dawn birds sing,
I watch the opulence
Of the sun correct the universe,

Unknown pleasures visiting
Gracious as Buddha -
Or you - who sounds my name
As if the soul mattered

At 6 am, the morning
Bleak, the sun nothing more than
Its own light yet
Uncertain of time or space

Until shadows fall colouring
Second after second and these words left,
This fourth poem in which
I have lived with you.

If you've any comments about this poem, John Cornwall would be pleased to hear from you.