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Slowly, cautiously
like a wild animal
curious yet afraid
instinct of the heart
against instinct of the hunter
the spirit of poetry stalks the edge
of my campfire's circle of light.
I see you there, prowling,
restless,
while I stare blankly
into the fire
pretending not to notice.
I can see only how you move
silent, liquid
in the corners of my eyes.
Excitement, suspense.
I know you
and yet I know you not,
know who you have been,
know nothing of who you have become,
know that if I look at you too soon
you will disappear.
You must come
to me.
I can only allow, invite,
create the stillness,
the emptiness.
My skin is electric
with your approach.
It pleases me to have you
even this close,
sniffing the border
between light and mystery.
Now you move directly in front of me
keeping to the shadows
but now face to face
so we can look into each other's eyes,
grow accustomed to being together
yet again.
It's been a long time, you say silently,
eyes unmoving as I nod.
I have forgotten how coy you are,
how your theatre trembles my skin,
whines my blood,
stretches my every sense
until I can feel
the color of your silence,
the texture of your night.
After a time
I can trace the shape of your shadow,
the contours of your gathered void,
and I know that you, too, are pleased
to be together again.
Did you think I had forgotten you?
Did I think you would never return?
Invitation grows in your eyes,
steady as stars,
calling me to join you
in the blackness,
leave light behind
until morning.
I hesitate,
awkward, embarrassed.
It's my turn to be coy.
We both smile, and I remember
most gratefully
the depth of your patience.
I stand, gather around me
all the gentleness of the moment,
check your eyes one more time,
then slip beyond the edge of knowledge
into the soft folds
of your welcome.
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