All I had to do was reach, a candle
found in a bin filled with a hundred identical things.
Now it stands enshrined on my coffee table
overseeing books, my glasses, and remote controls,
part of a stilled life.
All the better for me to listen.
You're in a place where I dream
and then fall back to myself without a safety.
A cross-hatching embroiders our love.
June-bug, you remind me of my own mom who died
when I didn't even eat salad,
the way you hugged me
when I first stepped inside your kitchen.
People I've loved I'll meet
somewhere in a casino, not just sitting around
taking bets on when the new coals will die down,
house lights turned up and burning Siberian tigers
melting into bling.
I have no reason to believe differently.
Bless You, my candle, for hills around my house
and trees outside my window shimmering,
for the Golden Poppy and its torch
running up and down the fields,
the horizon across my brow,
and Your words allowing this woman to give thanks.