Portrait

The trees have become thick pixels
because we are the foreground,
huge in the taut eye of aperture.

I'm small and glad .
I'm pressed to your brow
your arms rounding me like a bear.

The grin is relieved, we laugh into
each other's make-up and sweat
and proper dress;
we cradle ourselves
without grip or purpose
but with the same tender sling
that will draw a baby.

I trust you not to let go;
you trust me to stay, like the persistent
scent of jasmine.

We stand like that now, I think.
When we play and fight and cry and break
down to our very carbon
our very marrow
to the ground dust that made me your rib
and I feel we are still learning
to lean
upon each other like that.

Loose, but tight and still
inside our embrace.