Spend one morning in my mind and find that you could adore yourself –
listen to your fingers whisper,
see the way I slip my tongue in your mouth like a thief to steal your time,
but left my fingerprint when I leave if it meant you’d try to catch me again.

And you hate the rain,
but I watched it sing against the balcony in this faraway city.
When the rain seeped through the deep roots of the old cypress below,
I felt your eyelashes brush against my cheek,
                   like a ghost passing through my body.
I watched the cypress roots ache with a tenderness they thought they lost.
I collected water in my palms, pretending it was your hands.
How flowers grow despite the shade, the root that knows sunlight
                                                                                                     through faith alone.

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Know this:
 

                Anywhere I run to in the world,
                wherever beauty goes –

                               in the high wind of the winter mountains,
                               the weeping curl of a spring peony,
                               the throb of an autumn star,
                               the summer warmth that makes a fool out of my lungs –

                               you are there to greet me.

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                                                                                 The garden wall of my heart, overgrown with flowers.

                                                                                 When the seasons goes dry,
                                                                                 and there is nothing left for you to give,

                                                                                 know that the flowers loved the rain -
                                                                                 the force that brought me to unfurl.