You wouldn’t believe the way the morning shimmered—  
how butterflies carved runes in the air,  
and the breeze carried a hush  
that knew your name.  

I gave thanks to the great-bellied tree,  
its roots deep with memory,  
its limbs sketching prayers  
only kindred hearts can translate.  

Cruz curled at my feet,  
guardian of silence,  
as Bach coaxed the violets to bloom.  

Through the glass,  
the world became sanctuary—  
I saw you there in the light-laced garden,  
between leaf and longing.  

This note? It’s a homing spell,  
wrapped in cello and breath,  
whispering:  
I am here.
I am there.
I am with you—  
always.