It’s not in your river of
stars upon my
lips at dawn,
or how I watch the blue
always changing in
your eyes
and wonder how those
ghosts of spring
can float so freely
in their cage
just beyond my reach.

It’s not in your skin
when it shatters me
and recreates me
from fire and
discovers the slippery
joy I keep for you
as I freely
trade my breath
for yours.

It’s not in the places
we found sacred:
the oceans that loved
us with each blast
of crystal,
the forests that
blessed us like priests,
or even the moon
when she dropped her
steaming robe on some
green-scented nights.

It’s in a trembling flame,
sapphire veil,
a breath I rode from
infinity,
a star the day cannot
pound into dust,
a soul that found its
way from rock to light:

It’s in the
center of myself
that I have found you.

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