For Daisy, on Her Birthday

I’ve known you longer than
I’ve known myself, it seems.
The plane leaves your peninsula
But I am left behind
in dreams and even conscious mind.

Walking through an airport
in a strange and foreign land,
to me, I see you sitting
by the luggage carousel,
and suddenly I’m two places at once.

Further than I’ve ever been, and home.
Your hips and laugh and stories
are wider than a fabled sea,
and shapely as a dancer
in an ancient marketplace.

You are, in short, perfect.
You tell me that your mind’s eye
is blind, that pictures do not form
behind your eyes. And I think
that that’s because you give pictures, instead.