When I was six,

staying at the big house,

the Blue Room I remember,

you came and slept in the great bed

next to mine.


Before dawn I lay awake

a little sick or something,

You took me into your sheets

and together we watched

the light come.


Dawn, never so mysterious,

never again so filled with rapture,

your explanations of the rising sun,

the globe that spun, the east-west

meaning, time and openings

of day and night revolvings.

When the sun came

striking the gauze curtains

and filtering into the room

I was one with the planets turning

Lying in your arms.


Long after the uncertainties began

I still went to church with you.

It seemed there was nothing else to do

and anyway there was love.

Stumbling hesitatingly through the Creed

one day I heard you say

“ - in so far as it can be believed”

and my heart leapt

letting go all fears of losing love,

thrilling me with the vast courage

of that great doubt.

I sang the hymns so high

into the rafters

I think the tiles moved.