Shadows lost in prayer
I tiptoe through you
like some tourist lost in wonder in the Hermitage:
shy, in awe and undeserving
of this wealth of beauty and appraisal.
My worlds enfolded in your hair,
that drapes my thoughts like curtains;
the way your eyes, now closed, still find me,
like the rainbow binds the flood.
I tiptoe through you,
like a shadow lost in prayer to the flame:
bending, shivering, yearning -
tied like stars to the night.
And like the orchard tells the wind
to move its blossom towards a different season,
I bind my breath to the salt of your skin
and my dreams to the warmth of your waiting.