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The ancient scent of your soul
lingers on the hem of my dress
and on my hands from this earthen climb.
Even the locks of my hair curl
around the sacred conversation
of the musky dampness
of this kind of paradise.

Here we live
in memories stolen
from the pocket of a widow's coat,
from another life,
where you slip shoes
from my tired feet
at the end of a long day
and assess the damages
with so much kindness
I've come back to find you again.

In the geography of the impossible
we've found each other wanting nothing more
than comfort and the ease that comes
just healing the wounds of another day.

Come even closer than you dare
and exhale into my open mouth.
Here the green moss will rub free
from the walls of this old place
and you will see my name
etched into the stones
near the river
and into the place inside yourself
that reflects ripples
of absolute home.