Pearl

How the soft breath of the person
we love settles like a leaf
out of time with past and present and future,
a spun chronotope that lingers
beyond breath and body and life.
And what can you say that's gone
unsaid? We see what we want in the eyes
and lips and the image freezes.
You close your lids to that curve of chin,
the indentation of the hip you catch
as an outline beneath wool pulled tight,
the steam from the cup between
your hands warming, obscuring,
and forget you've known mornings
where you've woken alone, not lost
but unfound as birds chirp
innocence outside and you feel the beats
and pulses of your heart flutter
like mothwings as its valves go dry.
Now her ribcage rises and falls
to mark those pindrop seconds
and there is nothing else but
to match breath with her and remember
what it is you love.