the way you hold a
pencil, the way you bend and tilt
toward what is important, toward
what moves you and yet holds
you in stilled animation,
wonder, desire;
the way your face opens
to the widest smile, the
bluest
laugh, like music
giving in. love to you and
the granular tender-
ness in your eyes, on your
finger tips, between the universe
of your lips, the tension of your sighs. this
kind of love has no name; it is just a
grate ful ness to be in the
same world with you.