Imitation of Those Winter

Sundays
What did she know
of loves austere and lonely offices?
That while the air still whistled
between her lips and her eyelids
Fluttered from the dancing dreams behind them,
Her lover slipped away from her side
Between the rustling sheets;
That he cautioned each step on the wooden floor
Whispering prayers to stifle any creaks
That slipped through the cracks of the groaning old house.
She would awaken, alone
And find him holding another girl,
Her golden curls spilling over his shoulder
Her nose nestled in his neck
The wrinkles under his eyes from being up with her all night
Rocking his baby so his beloved could rest.