I look at you now
so true in form,
the light tickling your
gentle façade while you
welcome it inside for
a tour of your essence, and

I wonder; how do you do it?
Always hold my hand
when I struggle to create.
Now that I need you,
you look my way
and humbly nod. When

I ask you to paint the
words on my canvas,
you stroke the curves
of each vowel so they rival
a mammoth’s trunk
sending bliss
to his eager mouth. If

I taste loss, you taste
opportunity. A falling
leaf becomes a hopeful soul
traveling to a new world. And

I thank you for that. For taking
what I leave muddled in
my mind, and making poetry.