one more poem

You would not call this love,
Just a strange, peculiar rightness.
Alone in this silence that is the two of us,
The ground rotates round. Birds come to rest
In the wayward tree, growing west.
We allow the clouds to stroll slowly by, letting
Scarlet melt into deathless-deep night sky.
Higher and higher we breathe, and the earth
Rolls along its comfortable rails, the planets watch
On, winding time like time itself, in silence, in
Watching, waiting, silence, as a strange music stirs;
Its slow vibration affects, lulling us to believe.
In the world of two, nothing comes to harm,
The universe sleeps between our arms.