I'm back. Sleep on. I'll try to make no noise
enough to wake you. As I potter round
the kitchen, making tea, the only sound
will be the kettle. I know it annoys
you to be woken – I'll put camomile
there by the bed. In case you're half-awake
and thirsty. I'll stand still just for the sake
of watching you asleep, in case you smile.
You look so young – I want to wake you, kiss
your forehead then your lips. I go away.
These are the thoughts far better had by day.
How I regret the chances that I miss
and so resent the poems that I write
when I could do far better things at night.
