We looked up at Scorpio’s tail of stars
curved across light years of night.
We anchored and made love in the dark,
embraced in the cold before dawn and spoke
of Novalis who praised nocturnal light.
Although my thoughts were dark,
you spoke of those who spoke of light
as they moved through the night:
old saints and fishermen following stars.
The river flowed towards morning
until Scorpio grew pale, fading with dawn,
and darkness sailed into light.
Copyright © 2006 Robert Adamson
Used with the permission of Flood Editions.