The speaker does something quietly bold: moves the bed outside, to the river’s edge. The bed is shared—“our bed”—so this feels like an intimate act, maybe a decision made with someone else or a gesture toward closeness. Once the bed is there, attention turns inward. Moonlight on the water becomes an emotional event, not just a pretty scene. “The moonlit waters / flooded my heart” conjures a feeling that is sudden, immersive, and a little overwhelming, though not violent. The heart is opened, not broken. “All night” extends that sensation, making it last through the dark hours. The mood is hushed, tender, and slightly otherworldly, as if the speaker has let the river and the moonlight enter them completely. It feels like sleeplessness, longing, or love—something too wide to name, held in a very small scene.
Thirty-Six — Summary
I moved our bed to the river's edge.
The moonlit waters flooded my heart all night.