when echoes
are the only proof
of words
we said that day –
a blush returned
with mention of your name
how many times
the pull of lines
have made for you a bed
a place where you might linger
as every note
is read

I’ve given rhyme
a bit of time –
and still
I find you there
caught between
a poem
and a prayer
a weight of verse
your touch – a place
committed to a page –
returned whene’er
I reach for you
again

. . .