This,
This is the place she lives,
the place she breathes;
in this water
in the roots of this tree,
her fingers tangled in your hair.
Can you not hear her
speak your name?
Hers is there on your lips,
you can taste it on your tongue:
metallic letters on skin
like blood.

This,
This is the place she sleeps,
she's not been hiding
but this way is sometimes dark,
and you have often turned your head
and closed your eyes.

This,
This is the place she lives,
the place she breathes;
buried here in the earth,
her throat full of leaves
and moonlight in her eyes.
Turn and look,
and take her hand
because you already know her
and she has a secret to tell.

This,
This is the place I live,
the place I breathe;
she did not leave me,
I just forgot that I had lungs.