You are my pride, my bliss and pleasure.
It is nothing to drive to you through weather
that makes me blind and frozen-feathered,
since you showed me bravery, I might as well be flying,
bird's-eyeing every thing that once pinned me down
to the sorrowful, soaked ground.
You are the sunrise to me, and I remain
painfully grateful to wake to you each day.
You're a tapestry of commonplace and magical things,
an irresistible reminder that my back boasts wings -
all that you are, that you can't help being
sails to me
on the cold caws of ugly crows
through icy windows -
your heat, the simple fact of your heartbeat
guides me, reminds me
I am a wild thing.
Joy is as easy as hunger.
I am commanded by your nature
and the cover of nighttime
to join the beasts,
to forget to think,
to shatter silence
with my voice and my instincts.
Your life is an ancient, enticing mess,
a Weaveworld I fell into,
a pattern begging me
to share my breath and my color,
to spare nothing.
You planted seeds in me
that I painstakingly protected.
I raised them carefully,
clung to them, trying desperately to grow.
Now I see
it was silly to do that.
I am the stuff of the earth. My heart teems
with wildflowers, ivy, and weeds.
All it took was us meeting.