You stir beside me. From your sleeping lips
a voice comes, more than whisper, not quite speech.
I turn my head, then roll until our hips
are touching, tune my ear to parse the breach
of bedroom silence. Such nocturnal voices                          
breed curiosity or fan the flame
of jealousy as apprehensive spouses
listen for another person’s name.
 
Three thousand years ago, a holy Greek
sat in the Delphic temple, breathing fumes,
her drowsy gibberish turned to prophecy.
And you, my wife, my known one, who assumes
in sleep a voice of mad divinity?
Who shares this bed with me? I bid you, speak.