I felt like a broken puzzle.
Puzzling over all the pain.
He held me, in warm arms
and told me, that to him,
I didn’t seem broken at all.
There is dust all around me.
He pulls it out of the thin air
and in his mind’s eye, turns
the particles into soaring stars.
They aren’t ghosts, as much
as they are little stories.
And in his heart, he keeps
a polaroid picture of every
dream I have ever dreamt.
And just as I had forgotten
them, he pulls out the reminder.
I do remember, I know who I am.
He takes me to Blue Stem Hall.
We dance and whisper and create.
He buys me boxes of dusty cameras.
He holds his hand over everything
I hold dear, he knows how to protect.
We are tin type picture in oval frame.
We are red satin, lining the worn purple
velvet of a long ago dreaming.
We are hands held in soft loving, as we
walk through the glorious colors
of a day fading.
We are the two hawk morning,
and the new day dawning.
