The stars are living bright
seen from my bed
very deep
inside the window frame

Comfortably cool you lie beside me
but my skin is burning
where I miss you, you
are sleeping satisfied

after the long evening
in this longhouse, where we
only dared to make love
restrainedly, not used

to hear it from others
For the rest I don't hear anything
but rustling rain
that warm pleasure

of the children, and for us
if there had been no neighbours
who would be ashamed
So we did not do that

and we did it quietly
like the lash mites
that let us sleep
when they mate