In the morning a ruddy darkness, maroon mud 
scabbing over the horizon as my eyes shut out its light.

It is a miracle, I think, to wake without opening your eyes. 
Like a miracle it never happens until it’s first noticed,

but then it never ceases to happen – one miracle bleeds 
into the next like a million shallow breaths, or two

desperate bodies lost in sex. In this moment 
I could be in any room, and so I wander the moment,

that eyelid shade of red. I listen to the nothing,
and find you there listening too. Sometimes

I hold my breath so long I think myself dead.