Remembrance

Other than the mist
Clad in gray on the hill

And your words
That emanate from darkness,
Sudden as spring rain
When nights are still.

Others may touch
The surface of your skin,
But I reach places
Where your loneliness ends.

And I alone know this poverty.

But what can I give you
If not these words
No one has taught me?

My love for you
Turns everything
Black and white
So I can see
Only faintly
The tumult
You cause me,

Yet I must tell you—

These feelings
Run deep
And often contrary;

You excite me
The way the sun ripples
The wind
Among the red poppies.