Only when you are willing to meet the world
The way the world truly meets you,
Will you cease to be alone.
When you taste the sunlight that fills
The breath between
This moment
And your skin,
When you sense the air around you lean in and
Take your hand,
When you trust the earth beneath your bare feet
Rising to guide you,
When you hear the roaring silence of a Sunday afternoon
Replace memory and hopes and regrets;
Then you will feel that gentle hand on your shoulder,
And finally open to the voice that has been whispering
To you since before light left the distant stars,
Welcoming you home,
Calling you, ‘Beloved’.

morning I wake and
before I sense life
I sense you.
in these moments
before the dreams steal out
and the parade of fears and hopes and lists marches in, we
are
enough.

my hands reach out fingerprinted
with memories of your geography:
the aspect of your spine,
the quake of your heart,
the heat in your skin in the dark
rising and falling as you breathe
Yes
And
Yes.

but I do not touch you yet.
the way first silent light of day
bends over you and

stares -

I know you are not mine alone.

I share you
with divinity and science and galaxies
and music and gravity and Now;
and the wind that lifts the branches of our hearts
with sighs.

still, I am a little greedy.
I am a little in love.
I cannot hide the joy
that cracks my face
as I stretch across the world of our bed
and meet your skin.
all I know pours into this instant:
a muscle shifting, breath quickening,
your eyes opening slowly like
planets escaping eclipse
as you roll over lazily
and smile,

‘hi’.