Sonnet, Forty-Three And One Half Poem by Diane Lee Moomey

But I remember every lip, and where,
and all the hands that ever cupped my cheek;
recall the day and season bringing each
and bearing each away: our mingled hair,
an arm across me in the night,the wary
promises we may have meant to keep;
remember canyons far too wide to leap
and lips, unkissed, that smiled across. This heart

has been no wide equator— endless vine
and leaf whose suns move gently south to north,
timeless zone of valleys, verdant bowls
of fruit— but is the sleepless summer, time
between the thaw and freeze, brief bringing forth
of tiny berries, lights above the poles.