Now it all comes back:

in pursuit of you from the basis of this armistice, when in the swelter of this afternoon
I wish you realer than anything imagined,
                 in confidence   that I may   arrive at a   hunted  answer.

But the question, when hurled, broke into the wet back of mound’s infinite silence,
   like a dog with its paw leaving dog-signatures on the bedspread,

at twilight, flowers shift from grace to melancholy, rail of stars in sight now,

I amongst the darkness, waiting – wishing you again underneath the dome
   of this immense night,

prying amongst stones their language of truthfulness: Have I not loved enough?