the gift

I want to speak of him
In the ways
That no one else has known him
To hold the thundering pulse of the mountain that he is
To stand before the sun
To burn in its shadow
To understand "painless" when coveted in his heart

These visions are the skin of his dreams
His voice
His essence
And they feed endlessly
As the droplet that becomes the trickle
That bleeds from the river to the sea

I know of no other breath
Of no other definition of freedom
He is my sonnet
My poet of laughter
And in my letter addressed to eternity
There lies my second chance

To sleep within the grace
Of his awakening dawn