Take last night—wasn’t much to it—
two earthlings floating our dreams       
in one bed. Though it left us

plenty of proof. Didn’t we shift
and touch under the dark’s one cover,
shuffle our sleeps together

in the gusts of each other’s breath,
then slip again deep
into singular drifts? I remember

your forehead against my neck, your arm
on my chest…. You kept
my knee a while between your thighs,

and I roused a little to the wind-
in-the-trees of your inhalations. No
more than this—all the proof

we’d need, to know, throughout
the rest of our lives, we had passed
love’s test. And why

doesn’t once convince us? As the night
lifted off to its dawn death,
it left us a certain scent—evidence

it had mixed our humors, stirred us
a oneness. Then the light scoured us
separate, our senses’

confluence lost. We showered
and dressed in our doubts—it suggests
we’d learned next to nothing.


[“Proof” first appeared in Split Rock Review.]