Late sonata

As I stumble through a late sonata
as I follow the notes like trees in a winter landscape
I hear the murmur of those who walked
with me in the woods after our feasts
when we were a little drunk
and in the moonless paths
we talked idly and took in sweet cold air

and we felt the rasp of cloth on cloth and knew
by the snap of twigs or the touch
where each one was
and now and then
the skies cleared over us
and in the light of the ancient galaxy
a face glimmered peacefully
relaxed in the darkness to an inner thought