TO ONE WHO KNOWS

You were meant to be
A metaphor for me:
The cool breath of stars
That touch us before we learn
What they lose to give us light.
See – they fade to grains of sand
Beyond the river, where angels
Coat pearls of love in their muscle hearts.
It doesn't matter that we didn't understand.
Draw back. The stars will sing again.
Cottonwood snow drifts on the wind.
We will be friends.
In these bounds of time,
You were my poetry.

(Provo, Utah, July 1981)