Things I Know

Your name. That’s one thing I know, and I’ve learned

to call your name when I do not know what to think, which

is often. Not that I believe you know more than I, but

because I am happier to be alive when you smile, and often you do.

That I know. And that sunrise this morning was the color

of rose petals. That butter and sugar and flour constellate

into edible joy when baked with vanilla and pecans.

That there are no panaceas, and that love does not conquer all.

Love, however, has conquered me, and when I stand

beneath a scimitar moon I imagine it carving into your eyes, too,

and I know that you know that I do. How a woman learns

to speak in twilight tongues with crepuscular verbs when regular

words won’t suffice. How silence is sometimes the only place

where we meet, and how sweetness is often too sweet. I know

that I know nothing. That everything turns given time. I know

that tonight I love you. Field of soft snow. Chatoyant stars in sky.


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