She is steam rising on bathwater —
dark night you hid from in your bedroom, she is
guitar hum, the one who lurks
in the bunching of blankets at the end of a bed, she
crawls out of bleached sunrise
She rose from the dirt in my hand, she is my little star, she
shines so bright, she is a dream, she walks
out of my eyes, I want to catch her
She rises like smoke from the kiln,
cleanses the air with a cough, she is soft like baby, cool like
salt, she is callous, careful, clean, she is dirty
She is rising in the high tide of the afternoon
she breaks rocks in her teeth, she looks
through smudged windows, like one who sees
the far side of the moon and hopes to stand there
and look back only to say
I once was there