I lived in objects until they became voices
in the corners of every wall, and we woke
to understand that memories could contour
without letting go, indispensable partners in life,
mocks us in physical matter, until the humbleness unravels
at the sound of footsteps passing by.
I thought I was the only one to carry these babies
that space deserved no credit,
the warmth of a given setting was a consequence
of a secondary movement,
that feet grew through the floors in given years
the alignment of faces and windows,
smiles in how we counted growth, measuring sunshine,
your youthful beads of hair took hours to
be forgotten, this floor called to you to
crawl, this ceiling called to you to stand
my body was nothing when the door called
to you to run, to find a place behind my eyes
where you could whisper dreams, sleep
and wake to the kindness of morning light.
It lived inside, matter, where people grow into
bodies of flesh, thoughts and years to piece together
stories, that you knew me here and we talked of other places
never wanting to leave the one we knew.