For Two Lovers in the Year 2075

If you have lips and forests,
you creatures years from now,
here are some lines to tell you
that we were among your trees
in extraordinary flesh
and ecstasy now gone,
and our tongues looked for each other
and after that for words.

If you have August moonrise
and bodies to undress,
here are some words we've left you
when we had had our say.
Put them beside your cummings,
if you still carry books,
not as sweet as Landor,
not as quick as Donne,
wrap them in still-warm clothing
beside your sleeping bag
for when you want to speak.

These trees are stirred by ghosting,
not only ours but others'.
Enjoy the feathery presences,
no sadder than your own,
they gather from the past -
last August's moan and whisper,
the leaves renew the weavings
and lacings of the flesh.
Here is the sound of ours.

- William Meredith (1980), "For Two Lovers in the Year 2075 in the Canadian Woods"