She lies in the dark
like something that has always been kept.
Like the world arranged itself
around her sleeping.
He does not sleep the same way.
He listens.
Waits for the sound that means danger.
The sound that means nothing.
She knows only softness.
He knows only what comes after.
One carries grace the way she was born to it.
The other carries it like fire like something stolen back.
And in the dark they both carry the flame.
Both necessary.
Both the fire and the rest.
