I don’t see you or feel you.
I know you coming out of things to me,
a breathing out into me,
a light pouring out of pure darkness
into me, full of the mystery of that dark,
full of this light, invisible darkness.
The urge in me that makes me breathe
I can’t find, but always comes, always.
You are the point on the horizon, the faint star
I see not by looking at but slightly away,
or even in the opposite direction,
where you smile like a knowing beggar,
where you reach out just before I suspect you
like a friend, with the perfect surprise,
like, in a foreign, unsure, impossible place
someone covering my eyes from behind and saying
“Guess who,” and I hear the unmistakable voice
of my lover.
October 10, 2019