This Long Night

This long night talks to itself.
The dark won't listen to the sound of your name.
I reach out here — my big empty bed.
The space next to me closes in; you say something,
anything, the exact sound of your accent
falling like rain on a caravan roof.
Tell me what you want me to do.

This long night stretches into another time.
Nobody calls my name. Silence —
a thief in the back garden.
Your body, a shadow, flat under the moon.
In my sleep, I open up like a night flower.
My scent comes in the midnight hour.
You come in by the window, don't you?

This long night and I can't reach you.
Your tongue inside me slides away.
You walk till the night grabs you.
A lonely pitch at the dark. Walk
until the road is all of your past.
Then, turn in your sleep next to your marriage,
wake yourself up calling my name.

— Jackie Kay