My Wilderness

I have wanted to stay before, but never like this.
Each night, I lingered beside your ear, barely mouthing the warmth of I love you,
your lungs forbearing breath, as though their stillness might keep us alive.
I watched you just outside my window—my eyes, steadily fixed in adoration.
Whispers of I want you in all of the ways.

I hadn’t known that time was withering upon the ice,
as I swallowed my candlelight away from you.
On my darkened porch, you prayed your last Hail Mary,
while your hunger burned for a feast I only let you smell, but not savour—
because I know what such sacred love requires,
and a heart is a precious dove in my hands.

I cherish you, down to the smallest, most fragile part,
whether or not you ever come to me again.

I’m not as careless as I have always claimed to be.
What I am is a wavering willow tree,
so the wind sweeps away everything I long to grasp.
And I have allowed it–
because I still don’t remember my own reflection,
or know where I’m meant to stay.
I replant myself all over a wilderness of meaning,
until the day my roots find and feel home.

Until then, I pause in promise—but never in love.
My gentlest friend, you have altered me.