My heart at last is quiet in those hours before the dawn,
the dew, the tears, they glisten like white frost upon the lawn.
The river is a silent mirror of night-time drifting by,
the moon floats on it’s turbid tide beneath an empty sky.
From mirror and darkness
ever-so white
a face looking up
at the midsummer night.
The night’s made out of shining ice, a silver sphere unmarred,
amid this crystal peace I sit, frozen at its heart.
And few and fewer pictures rise from the cooling well
all that remains is me, the ice, and him who spoke the spell:
The man who had loved
the man who had lied
the man who had left
on a midsummer night.
In moonlight we’re dancing
a dance of our own
you’re here in my arms
yet I’m dancing alone
this night and this river
they knew us of old
there’s moonlight within me
I’m no longer cold . . .
Tomorrow they’ll find me
in clear morning light,
frozen to death
on an midsummer night -
frozen to death
on this midsummer night.
Eva, May 1999
For Rafael, who left April 6th, 1999