The mist levitated over the palace wall,
And then swept the grass underneath it
like the maid cleaning the corridors,
Moving towards the dome.
The grass, tumbling and rolling against
the mist, was almost pink in the light
and she woke up, suddenly, in the dove-
light of her bedroom and clutched the arm
of the still-sleeping man next to her.
He made a noise in his throat,
all animal and savage,
and she withdrew her hand and clasped it
over her stomach, one hand on the other,
Contemplating the ceiling, and
Waiting for the dawn.