Before I lit a match,
I turned on your light.
Before I bought a book,
I took you into my arms.
Before I had her printed
on my skin,
I knew she was you.*
It was night. There was
nothing in the sky—not
even black. The world
was a pale gray, and the
bats—the color of smoke.
Then you came—a woman
from space, dusk
with yellow armor. The
moon resting on ocean. Your
halo, a burning wreath of
gold. You, finally. You who
I’d been waiting for—the girl
who sneezed the black, the one
who said, “goodnight.” You,
my moon and stars.