There are moments in my mind’s eye when I see us. I see him turned…
First thought: Today the daylight is two minutes and seventeen seconds shorter than yesterday.
Second thought: One open window to the air before sunrise, its hitch and chill; the raven in the tree-line.
Third thought: My hands skim things and do not settle; the empty page, the arm of the chair, the first photo taken of us. You said to me: Look. Look at your hands, how they hold me.
Fourth thought: I have lived in this desert for so long. At night, I startle awake to the memory of things greening, to my bare feet in the creek bed clay, to the night breathing around me.
Fifth thought: You said: I want to be where you are. You said it straight on. You did not look away.
Sixth thought: He spoke my truest name. He called it that: Your truest name. He asked if he could call me by that.
Seventh thought: Yes. I said yes.
©2019 Dora E. McQuaid
Photo by Caitlin Legere