Thank you for this piece of heaven
I found slipped into my morning.
When did you hide it here, and how
could your feet have been so quiet
I did not hear the old floor creak?
Nor did I feel your breath on my neck,
how I wish I did. And still, here it is,
crazy angel, a page of heaven complete
with its own soundtrack. I bumble the words,
so I hum along and some deep hole in me fills
for a moment with song and shine.
O sweet invisible, I kiss your eyes.
And dream is what a woman does
when she is entered by miracles—
baptized again and again into the moment,
wildly here and more than here. My dust
does as dust does—disperses in the air
and dances wildly in shafts of light.