Upon Meeting

In the stillness of all nights,
I find myself thinking of you
I cannot recite what it is exactly what this feels
but I notice it in every tiny detail,
the rain swept tree from my window
is just a harp, sending its notes into beauty
and beyond, I can go to work, in all its
tedious misgivings, stress, but this seems less
weighted for I think of you, I cannot tell you enough
what it is that stirs within me, the silent bud of
flowers is silent, but holds the light of many
mazes of beauty. Birds sing because it is just
what they do. I remember the times
of childhood, all the colours of a robins egg
hatching at the paint of any empty canvas.
And I am brought back to this recurring thought,
in the stillness of all nights, in the tedium of all days,
battered by work, fatigued by life, but when all I need
to do is think of you, with your kindness, as soft
as all daffodils, my heart, like a tidepool, swept
in the tempest of your oceanic arms. I do not know
what it is that you do for me, but it blinds like
the first chink of light, after a long passage of darkness
in the mines, my tap, tap, tap of a hammer, sawing
through to the daybreak, and I will
embrace the light of your eyes.