Through chinks in faded curtains sunlight streaks across their faces, wakes them. Below the eaves, young swallows hail the day. The mattress creaks as his feet feel for the cold floor. He leaves her lying in its hollow, creeps downstairs and, listening to the kettle pouring out its heart in steam, remembers love affairs long gone that they have never talked about. Tonight, he’ll watch the full moon glide above their bed and listen to her sleeping breath, its steady rhythm soft and warm, like love, its measured pulse relentless, sure as death. They’ll lie and wait for dawn, the sound of birds, two silent lovers who have outgrown words.