Theodore Roethke

Memory

IN THE slow world of dream,
We breathe in unison.
The outside dies within,
And she knows all I am.

She turns, as if to go,
Half-bird, half-animal.
The wind dies on the hill.
Love’s all. Love’s all I know.

A doe drinks by a stream,
A doe and its fawn.
When I follow after them,
The grass changes to stone.