As you sleep, I wonder at you
and how you grew
long before I knew you –
blind nub of desire striking
into tissue, ancestral grudge into bone,
a tangle of nerve
and lust and tenacity
growing through habit,
distraction and hectic
improvisation, into this entire
foliage of self.
How much fear do you carry with you,
I wonder, how much scar-tissue in the soul,
how long since you paused
at the creak of memory in the knee,
visited the distant suburb of your foot,
listened to the mandarin silences of the heart,
journeyed like every pilgrim must
to the cold place in the stomach
where we forget to love ourselves?
And I want to pray for you
in the furry way that animals know –
if warmth is proof of love
may my presence within you
remain forever tropical.