way (n).

You appeared and
I began to write it down,
and I’ve kept every note.

I want to be an expert
on the way your hair falls
and the way your head turns
the patterns of your sleep
and the sound of you waking.

I know you enough to paint your laugh
and sing with your worries
and curl up with your quiet

I know every time you’ve shaken your head
at all the ways I try to show you
all the ways you make me light.

If I read it over (which I do, each day)
I see how easy it was to love you
from the very start
and in these ways:

like the sound of the wind in the grass from where you came
a constant rustle and sway
like our ankles in the water, washed by the coast
like the space between sleep and waking

like the song that swelled in me when I met you
and hasn’t left me since. 
 

[commissioned by Jon for Nicole; happy birthday! xo].