Fresh wind has lifted
Wet air to my face.
It grazes my lips
As grace, calling back
All that your gestures
Teach me. This chiefly:
Love declares all things
Are only themselves
Believed by common light
As I think we have done,
Though through this dusky space
Late play of gold changes
The shape of things
And may deceive.
Words are another kind
Of speaking, and can be
True as the promises
Made whole in our bodies.
Silent, you touched me,
Finding who I was
In your fingers, then
Held me in your words
Gently too. I want
To remember them
As kisses giving
Breath to promises.
Come, tell me them again.