I do not have much Of your arms, or legs Or fingers, Enclosed, Or opened wide I do not have much of your naked eyes Pooling wet around the green, Specked with golden fireflies I have not many of your lines, Remembered well Much less memorized Much better Is every word you tried To skip across to me A smooth stone from the lakeside So that maybe I could see the signs, Come to know your heart In my own way, On my own time Once I settled in with the crickets To play the flute in our goodbye, The saddest melody, My only lullaby