Do I see the stars all aligned through broken branches? Do I know the distance to you as brushed by the wings of a crow? The days of sun unravel with winter still sniffing at the door, this dust and dust, and so much dreaming. The footprints danced into a circle, your story stitched into the spell like ink. Those dizzy tattoos everybody is lousy with, something always other must this flesh declare. It is enough to know I love you, whichever word or way.
I touch the warmth of electricity and metal, the smooth insistence of your charm. To flit and leap the whole word over. To spark and step and never know just how alone. It is digits on the television, seraph on the font. The weighty fruits of some diverse oblivion hanging heavy from every vine. These stubborn percussives, this gilt sibilance. You are the words as spoken, the hand as it must be played. You are the spell unbroken, a lavish idyll and the endless hush of rain.
The night alludes to its usual ghosts. The lamps all glow, the TV mumbles. I suspect that you are sleeping tangled in all your dreams and worries. I suspect that you are sleeping beneath those stippled constellations. You are so much closer, and so much farther than flight can say. The dance is always run in cycles, the reel goes 'round and 'round and 'round. My hours burn down, my hands are empty. I love you as you are swaddled in all your sweet tomorrows. It is enough to know I love you, whatever you may say.