Sadness

Sadness
wavers on the edges
of your face. I come
to a secret pleasure. Lone
against clear sky, I
am not through
needing to feel for you.
Static summer and the land, bright
consecutive days
and the slow dark
of shadow. What came
in light is left, you see:
the still throb of heat
in standing waves above
the hum of ground, below
the threshold of our hearing
or our vision or the constellated
surface of the earth.