it’s magic
still in my doorway
the ever-moving captured image of your bending lines,
leaning a little to the left
a puzzle to the afternoon
your eyes half closed
a pause and then you push in to the threads that built this afternoon
i watch this moment like a cloud shadow and
assume a poem will show up whole and unprotected
on the pillow by my head
(like a burst of forgiveness)
and save this scene for me, for us, for the eyes of an obliging god
instead, quiet settles between the noises life makes
and i reserve a space in me, where language need not tread,
and i know i’ll always feel your chest to my back and see your skin against mine, a little darker
and perfectly matched