I would like to watch you
sleeping,
which may not happen.
I would like to watch you,
sleeping. I would like to sleep
with you, to enter
your sleep as its smooth dark wave
slides over my head
and walk with you through
that lucent wavering forest
of bluegreen leaves
with its watery sun
and three moons
towards the cave
where you must descend,
towards your worst fear
I would like to give you
the silver branch,
the small white flower,
the one word that
will protect you
from the grief at the center
of your dream, from the grief
at the center.
I would like to follow
you up the long stairway
again & become
the boat that would row you back
carefully, a flame
in two cupped hands
to where your body lies
beside me, and you enter
it as easily as breathing in
I would like to be the air
that inhabits you for a moment
only. I would like to be
that unnoticed
& that necessary.
~Margaret Atwood