Before I lit a match,
I turned on your light.

Before I bought a book,
I took you into my arms.

Before I had her printed
on my skin,

I knew she was you.*

It was night. There was
nothing in the sky—not

even black. The world
was a pale gray, and the

bats—the color of smoke.
Then you came—a woman

from space, dusk
with yellow armor. The

moon resting on ocean. Your
halo, a burning wreath of

gold. You, finally. You who
I’d been waiting for—the girl

who sneezed the black, the one
who said, “goodnight.” You,

my moon and stars.