Everywhere - Mark Doty
I thought I'd lost you. But you said I'm imbued
in the fabric of things, the way that wax lost from batik shapes the pattern where the dye won't take I make the space around you,
as so allow you shape. And always you'll feel the traces of that wax soaked far into the weave: the air around your gestures,
the silence after you speak. That's me, that slight wind between your hand and what you're reaching for, chair and paper, book or cup:
that close, where I am: between where breath ends, air starts
Big Book Of Poetry
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