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When the moon comes, low
in the evening sky, garrulous as birds
on wires above the town,

think again of what divides
and what connects
an ocean and a continent away,

if only for a moment, be still
while the nightingale feasts
and the moon brings breasts to man.

All at once, she is naked
and I am taking her by the hips,
pulling her to me from behind,

once more, I am certain
of words that claim what is ours,
‘tender mercies… tender

mercies,’ as if in a dream,
she whispers it, ‘love,
do you wish to enter me this way?’