this poem is everything she is and isn’t
how carefully she is restrained yet contiguous
her beauty raises as many questions as answers
yet she’s the one who makes sense in an uncertain world
she summons in me the concordant desire to meet her eyes
but any question from me
makes her wish she were someone else
constantly inspecting her constellations of memory
she brings music to the shapes that haunt her lines
holding herself back from rhymes and ballads
she leavens the weight of words emerging in my work
I want her influence on me like freshly sifted flour
I want to give her back
the scent of lilacs and freshly cut fields