you are sunlight, filtered golden
through a gauze of clouds
unhurried, the tension
of a bowstring, a rock in a stream
you are warmth on my face and soft rock on the radio
a puzzle, a softball-sized knot to unravel,
a coarse, steadfast
you are not my breath, but the warmth
of the air I breathe.
you are a gated path, the joy of the journey,
a destination, not mine
I ache for you but
do not pine.