I come to you bearing fingers reaching
- it is only when you love me my hands are not strange creatures;

it is only the way you love me that could make me equal the beauty you believe in

we are not ages dying but ideas sprouting books:
time as a spirit, and you to dance by the sweeter core of both

i lay down upon the world like a map to understand how fitting together works

and you find me, strung along the islands and runes, crying,
or smiling. You pull me into the swirl of hills

and homes, again, where you are;
i learn to trust air you breathe

and i swear that i melt and pool in all your grooves;
you trace the mountain song on the skin of my back,

the meaning
      (urving deeper


you teach my fear that it has no food;
i blaze, slowly,

rising out of myself to know your skin    and speak.
--  It is the way my heart begins