remember that lilacs enfolded the night
in a soft June kiss,
a never-never land
of love in a candy store.
They floated like clouds of stingless bees
in mesmeric rivers of honey
around your tender face.
There was a sound like water falling
or clusters of little bells
or birds about to sing.
Sometimes I touch that lilac night
when your grave opens,
when dreams take us deep, deep
to love without time, without loss.