For Joy

Remind me to breathe
next time you look me in the eye,
your soul swirling
in the delicate glass
of my body.

The fragrance of your voice
remains as memory—
the slow notes of jazz piano
needing tuning—
sweet as you hold me close
dancing in the kitchen
while preparing buttered toast
with apricot jam
for late breakfast

and then back to bed
again for loving the light
in the softest folds of skin
at the spaces between fingers
and on the grand desert
of my belly marked again
by the violence
of healing.

Hold me in your arms
and remind me
to take the cool air
of this fall evening
into my marrow
and I will bow
to the sacred blessings
left wanting in the dust
that collects
at your imperfect feet.

Remembering my goodness
is as simple
and brilliant
as opening my heart
to listen to the silent movement
of the kindness of giving up
everything

for only this joy.