She shone for me like the sun,
Bringing certain truths to a stretched-tight sky,
Showing things according to her lights:
The fire-freckles on rivers’ skins,
The hues of crops arching high,
The living, raging joy of fusion!
She burned golden, and the world glowed with her.
I wanted to return her brightness
But paled by day, a ghost-self, hollow.
We live by light, but I want no deserts, no fury,
No harsh slow burn as the spheres turn.
I was and will be of the moon,
Telling my years by her soft glow,
At home adrift in muted colors, deeper waters,
Starlight and twilight gentler on the eyes,
Losing the rough edges of myself and others
In slow, cool, vast, thoughtful stillness.
I’d written love poems before and have written others since. My best poem for one girl was a farewell. Years later, we’re on good terms.