Where did you come from, bright star? What heaven did you leap from, dear love?
How can I spell your name without the sound of autumn underneath my tongue?
Without acknowledging the lovers who bent me in half?
Bless them for bringing me to you. How can I say your name without also breathing
the words, my God, I've found you?
How can I ever speak again with this mouth when it has found where it belongs?
When you touch me, I am a bed of calla lilies.
I will make a house for you and fill it with evergreens.
I will paint sunsets on every wall so you can only see beautiful things.
How can I say love without wanting to fold myself into you like a thousand paper cranes, dear one?
I was halved the moment I was born.
The other piece of me is inside of your mouth.
And I was found whole the moment you spoke.