happy, lonely, who can say which--

Almost 8 A.M., curtain drawn shut, lying in bed naked:

it's not the same as sex,
but close
as a door slams,
a shoe crunches on gravel,
walking away.
Then the long afterward of lying still--
happy, lonely,
who can say which--
the world
just as it is, and the lover too,
just so.

[Jim Moore, 'In the Long Afterward', from Invisible Strings: Poems]