YOU ARE MY PERSON.

In the fourth year I’ve known

the scar across your nose

and the uncruel peculiarity

of your seasonal shoulder,

I intone the same moan

forlorn - still, without quiver

or qualm - you are my person.

The authentic celestial crunch

of my bootsteps in the snow

alone, without your long-legged

stride to pace the too soon,

too late reverberation on the 

ragged land, roads together

with a scarlet cheek and heart - 

at the dusking of the day come 

whitherway, to see the goddess

face and spit, to only see

druidess-you again - the scar,

a creature of clay, a shoulder

golden in the white, a cheek rose

in the dark - you are my person.

I wrote this around Christmas 2011.