as I sit in the open windowsill.
Lost, my
breath goes through
first and
following after my
fingertips resting,
breathing in
lighter than
air falling warm
though the
fabric. Life knit
into life,
stitched by breath,
each layer
air, flesh and blood and
soil- this
life shot through
with roots
and tendrils curling,
and you.
So real you’re
weather beaten
by dusty wind and sea salt-
finished by
that suffering,
and all those scars
by which I
know you.
In this
present life I grew to sleep and
everything real became wrapped up
in a longing
too much for hope.
Those dreams,
slipping away into my days
were stolen. One by one
I watched
them shiver, shower
into glittering
air and lose the light
that lit them
from below, too
temporary to
bear the weight
of your step
which I could
feel trembling
all through
me.
My hopes, too
small to contain
you, were
turned inside out
to greet you.
When I saw you,
I woke and remembered.
