commingled

your voice holds
in my bones. my frame held
up with echoes. my heart's weight
under your overcoat. your fisted hands hang
from my slight limbs and when i reach - touch
your face, you're heightened; made aware of
your own shape.

your eyes are green.
now, to look at heaven, it fills for me
with emeralds. it fills
with bright meadows in long abandon
from their rightful horizon.

lucid dreams
configure the stars and they dangle
constellations bespeaking our mythology.
a hunt in scratch-depiction on a cave wall;
a resolute face made supernatural by firelight,
telling our story, milleniums before we
came true and i came to be the place
for you to anchor.

my water; deep as space. be weightless.
use my surface to lift up your own reflection.
scoop me up with your body, cupped, you row across
and toward yourself.

my lighthouse, you are. balanced at that fine point
of ebb and flow's transition. annointed by
my high tide. i bring you gifts that belong already
to you. still you accept with graciousness.
i am indebted.

what are we? there is a fire at our feet. if i've turned
from you, my heart was never cold. it was smoldering.
wet green. i turn from you saying, 'this will destroy
us. yes. eventually.' the sound of your voice in
response; like tongs regrouping the dying coals in me.
the breath, let by your sigh - and all again, ignites.