The stars turn in a sky made out of charcoal;

their eyes glitter on the rippling surface of the pond

like pieces of shaven crystalline glass,

and as the wind makes the trees dance,

at the edge of this world and on the boundary of another,

I think of you.

I hold words behind my eyes, they give me sense;

with these words I tune the clockwork of this moment.

So let me tell you something, with these words that know me,

so that you may see the color of my heart.

Let me spin you a song of truth:

at the edges I shall color it with the ink of life,

and to give it being I shall use the pen creating.

I am the poet, and with these scalding words,

singeing the top of my brain like red candles’ heads

winking against the soft felt of midnight,

I intend honesty with each smile on my face.

Listen, please, as I spin my song.

The gossamer has been thinned with time,

but I think—I think I have the tools to mend it.

Let the song begin, then.

This song, it is about the color of your eyes,

each iridescent globe a universe burning with color separate of the other,

birthing worlds of knowledge and galaxies of life.

This is about the texture of your laugh,

the way that it shakes the whole world,

the way that it shimmers in bars of sunlight

on a world shaded in the purple of dawn.

This is about the the nature of the human heart.

This is about what makes it beat, the drum.

You are the hands that beat the drum, da-DUM,

you are the breath that fills the lungs of the world and makes life,

you are the thoughts that build, build, build to the smile blooming.

I’ve climbed mountains,

running from something I couldn’t see

only for it to pick up speed,

and I’ve stood atop the world

in the presence of great prophets to truth,

and I’ve tasted the universe’s beginning,

and the sight of the stars, they make me dream,

and last night I watched four thousand suns

take their last stuporous breaths,

and the night before I wondered

what it would be like to be God,

but there’s nothing, no one, not a queen in silken crown,

not a star in the evening sky, not an orange lamp in the corner of God’s eye,

as bright as you, as bright as you, as bright as you.

And I’ve walked all Dylan’s roads,

past the yellow wood and the road untaken,

but at the end of each

all I’ve ever found is you.

You keep the world turning, turning,

and on days when the sun refuses to shine,

you keep the universe happy and awake.

You are all that is needed to make life

more than heartless atoms and thoughtless space.

You are all that is needed to make black

these words on a page filled with white.

You are all that is needed to keep me awake.

And here, with this confession, must my song end,

for the night turns in the sky with the waves on the pond

and the light grows thin and harried,

but before I withdraw into the stars

and breathe the dust of the genesis of life,

I will rest my eyes on you and play these closing chords:

I used to live in a world of velvet shadows,

hiding behind unbreathed words

and seeing through closed eyes,

but you have given breath to my words

and you have opened my eyes.

I can see for the light,

and lo, the sun burns bright.