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