That Night

to R.

Only you and I
were hunted from on high,
and touched hands with the sky,
that night.

The road led up until
its presence made us still.
It was an animal hill
that night.

You and I were born
together. Time was torn.
(Two hours before the dawn
that night

we looked out. To one thing
our nerves were quickening,
the hill road beckoning
that night.)

We walked. We met a power
of the night hill that hour.
We turned. Earth made us cower
that night.

We turned: we walked: such ease
was ours in the light breeze,
the dark sky and the trees
that night.

Overhead we saw
a bar of light. No more
than a heart-beat before
that light

direct above us, high,
came hurtling down the sky.
Down, down, where you and I
that night

were visited. It came,
a light without a name.
We saw it both the same
that night.

Right down: then up, so far
we watched it, that thin bar,
then out. No shooting star
that night,

no trick of headlights, or
some accident. We saw
an alien light explore
that night.

And we were not afraid.
It touched us. That swift raid
has left us and has stayed.
That night

shall never pass us by,
the hill, the light, the sky –
and only you and I
that night.