Now that I am Never Alone

In the bath I look up and see the brown moth pressed like a pair of unpredictable lips against the white wall. I heat up the water, running as much hot in as I can stand. These handfuls over my shoulder—how once he pulled my head against his thigh and dipped a rivulet down my neck of coldest water from the spring we were drinking from. Beautiful mischief that stills a moment so I can never look back. Only now, brightest now, and the water never hot enough to drive that shiver out. But I remember solitude—no other presence and each thing what it was. Not this raw fluttering I make of you as you have made of me your watch-fire, your killing light.