Even from here.
(Half asleep at 2 am. Storms and seasons
and wild skies, walls and keys between us.)
Even now.
I can roam, by accident, into the smell of you.
Mindlessly tangle our fingers and hands.
Relax back into shoulders stronger than mine.
Realize I’m holding my breath like the wait will end.
Even now.
I hear you. Of course. I hear you.
Always. Always. I hear you.
A laugh. A plea. A lyric. A plan.
Even now.
Sleeping me reaches for sleeping you.
Your skin reminding me that our peaceful breaths
are joined among the noisy streets and things to solve.
Even now.
I hope you. Just hope.
Like hope is a thing to hold and bestow.
And hand to you: warm and golden and perfect.
-penned in a small a st paul room in an average september on a street lined with maples on a night when lightening and wind shook us all