I feel you,
in every thing,
in every river that might flow,
in every seed you might have sown.

I feel you.

I feel you,
in every vein,
in every beatin’ of my heart,
each breath I take.

I feel you, anyway,
in every tear that I might shed,
in every word I’ve never said.

I feel you

I feel you,
in every vein,
in every beatin’ of my heart,
in every breath I’ll ever take.

I feel you, anyway,
in every tear that I might shed,
in every word I’ve never said.

I feel you.

a bird
whose throat is splashed
by moonlight.

His song echoes
the faint pulse of leaves
shivering from dew

and laments
the distance between us.

For me, the sun is still out
licking grass
to a succulent green.

Its scent
pervades my skin
as if the longest whisper
of your voice were clipped

and tucked breast-deep
by wind

against the blue cushions
of a summer sky

baring her thoughts
to the wind.

Branches curved
into the satin arch
of leaves

and she dreamed
of her own feet

bridging the stage
with the dance steps
of Giselle.

She was small then
and could twist

the tape measure round
her body

like a long thread
trailing the height
of its needle.

With time, she grew
emulating the willow

and now she swirls
into the ease of a chair

relaxed from a tall walk
down the runway.

Wrapped in memory,
her forehead turns

the evening shy
with the pale light
of an ingenue.”