For months I coaxed every ounce,
filled with the fret of not enough.
Now your hunger wanes to a need
for nearness. Now your hair grows
long enough to tame; I pull the teeth
of a wide comb through your curls,
dry them with a damp towel. Dawn
unfurls from black to navy; ice darkens
to pools, revealing a glitter of salt.
I am learning to think less about
what I expect, returning to trails
that emerge from winter, gathering
reeds to bend and braid. As the day
lengthens, you notice our shadows
slanted on the dull grass; I lift
my hands like a dancer and you
do the same: each of us
encircled in new light.