Standing naked in the doorway,
Listen to this, he says, leans in
toward the page, reads as if
the passage were his own
I turn in my bathing, take in
this light pouring from him
perhaps they were something
sought now found
and how he brings them
to me as he gives me sentence
after sentence, he might have
been pointing to constellations
close enough to touch, that close,
and he wanted each to touch me
as the stars had opened him.
