Starting with the Natural World
-for aaron sorensen
You were always and never
Not here
A perfect shape
Cupped in my hands
As muted sand
Becomes blown glass
Like the moon’s
Alabaster salt flats
Its trajectory placed
On the tongue singing as
Tide pools do
Beneath heavy rain
Fissures of leaves
Adding their imprints
Across shortened days
No sound but your voice
Following a steady road
I am not like Mary
Watching her son
Hang from a thread
Of splintering wood
Unlike her
My eyes will follow
Your perfect outline
And recognize it as my own
No nails will ever be riven
Into your feet and hands
And this I do
Know for certain
Our bodies will never
Petrify into a pieta
And that you have always been
Here with me
