It’s not what the light
lets you see, she said, it’s
this, and she pulled my face
underwater with a kiss.
Like amateurs, we covered
ourselves with earth, came up
the hill phosphorescent, as if
we’d hibernated, forgotten
our names. At the top
again we remembered them
and forgot only her shoes,
hallelujah may they glow
there forever above the pressed
turf, the illuminated trace
of pleasure turned to halo
round an embarrassed moon.