here we are in the place where stones are built
particle by particle, long monuments to time.
here we have come to find equilibrium, even footing,
and a sure sense of each other: as climbers
on the great limestone crags we become nimble, sour, quick.
i take you in my mouth so that you will remember me.
you push into the heat of me and i think i cannot speak.

here in the old growth, the trees are brown giants
that speak with the wind throughout the night.
they spread up and out to build a canopy, a space
that would be otherwise empty now holding life.
beneath their many-fingered arms i reach too
toward the sky, your face, and possibility.

nights later, when i am restless, you invite me
back into your arms, still smelling of resin and lime.
i crawl into your heartbeat, wet and waiting.
with your hands on me, what i can be
is so much greater than what i was before.