Just after midnight,
now and then,
when the next day has started,
I leave my love beside me
in a cosy bed,
to look out of my window
to the moon and back.
Pinpoint stars shine,
reflected in my window;
my love turns over,
turning my attention
to the constant red of the alarm
that I will have to face
in seven hours time.
We are stardust, so I'm told,
and everything I see
is much older
than my love and me;
the elements, the atoms,
the light that only now
is reaching me.
I go back to her,
drift into sleep with her;
which light should I believe?
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EDWIN