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My ear is sweet to the sound of a sigh. The wordless conclusion to a breath I never heard inhaled, though it must have existed. Holding tightly to the unwritten monologues Whispered between green lights and paychecks. Those softer memories. When the sun glowed a little brighter, Just for a moment, and we managed to Catch it on the folds of our brains like film. Those nights that seemed endless and black, When our world ground to a halt and The air went stale and rotten. Those secrets you've kept About the way we look when no one is looking And the way we sound when no one is listening. I am born of the gentle way I take Morning drives in the early autumn to see The more slight changes in the color of the leaves. Because October's gold and rubies are just as Priceless as September's realization that Summer, too, cannot last forever. Staring out over the valleys and rivers, Just enough houses to remind you that there are Quieter ways of living. You'll dream of this tonight. And the cast of characters you hold close under The leaves, loosened by the bitter chill that Creeps up on you more often these days, Will confuse and haunt you far more than any Ghost ever has. But you'll appreciate the company Even if it isn't for forever, just for one night. Even if it isn't real, just imagined. And we'll try to get together but wind up freezing Around a half-lit fire in early November While the first flakes of the season tumble Violently downward from the sky, Pulling their punches at the last moment to alight Gracefully on our tongues. A sip of water in a desert. I will not let it tarnish the silver in my mouth, Which I have forged willfully in chaos and fire As a shield rather than a sword. Heaven forbid a blade come too close to The pages I bind together with needle and thread. Not that my hand might be slashed, But that the pages be harmed by mistake. My story, my life, a type of Bible truly written by The God it worships not the men who twist it. Meeting a Jesus who was terrified of his humanity, Of his purpose, and the far-too-capable Hands of Man waiting to take his life A God cloaked in mortality for the first time, Not yet knowing the weight of flesh and bone Nor the pain that comes with a broken heart. You are far more than stardust, my love. You are Divinity experiencing its Creation All over again as if for the first time. What a beautiful thing to draw your fear From the marrow to the surface. What a beautiful thing to dread Eternity And face it all the same.