Hey, my love, don’t think I can’t see you there
with your redwood heart and penny-bright hair.
Don’t think for a second I can’t hear those ideas
pounding on the inside of your skull, and don’t worry:
I know they aren’t all clear and light like you want them to be.
I know all those dark things hit you like punches in the chest but
you’ve got iron ribs so you catch your breath
and you walk taller like you planned it that way.

But hey, my love, you don’t have to let them all hit you like that.
I’d take a few punches for you. Really, I’d take them all, if you wanted to let me.

I can see you’ve gotten thinner, my love, and maybe that’s my fault,
or maybe it’s because the tattered girl with the bone-white smile
steals your strength when you’re looking for the extra sheet to keep her warm.

I’m greedy and I want you whole.
You’re precious and I don’t want to share.
You don’t deserve to be empty
so I chip pieces of myself away
and use them to try to fill your holes.

You are stars and mountains, my love, you are a shortness of breath
and you are the echo of two voices off the ceiling of a church.
My heart only blooms in the shadow of yours.