That moment, in the graveyard,
under the stars, when the light filtered
through the winding branches of the silvery
weeping willow we stood under.
That moment when we came to the base,
marked by a twisted joining of the barks,
when we were close, your head
fitting nicely under my chin, my hand
wrapped tightly around your back, both of
us holding onto a speeding target. We fit so
perfectly and terribly in that moment,
your wild hair brushing up against my face and
my body easily leaning into yours,
under the stars, in the graveyard
that one night when we looked into
each other's eyes, talked without words,
a delicate communion in the damp grass
under your favorite tree.