Copyright is held by the author.
You are the secret my cells quarry now,
two decades of hiding over.
Your name breathes rapid lilies beneath my skin.
I do not believe standing on this edge
in impermanence or permanence of things;
I do not know from this ledge
which past or future carries you
to me or me beyond the iron gates
into that field where milkweed calls the monarch
and all green things survive.
I only sense
between the wing beats of a butterfly
mystery large enough to mount, to ride,
to ripen, seeding its joy
in the soft fluff of dandelion
like stars, tumbling across the sky.