I see our future in the spaces between each strand of your hair—
painted pastel pink and baby blue with the brush of a Madaket sunset.
The moon sits quietly in its nook of the heavens, laying stars out
like polaroids—light-year snapshots of time—on the wall around it.

Maybe it's telling, somehow,
that our window into the world around us is built of
hairline streaks of the past, golden wavelengths washing gently
upon this shore at high tide.

All that leads to this—
this moment, the past's collective wisdom
illuminating all that we mean when we touch.

All that leads to this—
the past signaling the future.
We look upon the stars, see all that they have been—

and in their light, all that we are.

In your eyes, all that we can be.