She slipped her dress back on and stole downstairs. The bare feet, whispering, made little sound. A sleeper breathed, a child turned in its sleep. She heard the tiny breathings. She shut the door. The moon rode a high heaven streaked with cloud. She watched it for a moment. Then she drank That moon from its high heaven with her mouth And felt the immaculate burning of that frost Run from her fingers in such corporal silver Her whole slight body was a corposant Of hollow light and the cold sap of the moon.

She knew the dark grass cool beneath her feet. She knew the opening of the stable door. It shut behind her. She was in darkness now.