The small hearts of violet and ivy

so wisely they signal

this night is the first night.

The moon cracking open its door, the stars

beckoning in the atmosphere,

this hour is the first hour.

I think of you in the high desert

so butch and so

gentle on the eyes, patiently

tending to a prismatic fire

and singing your psalms. Where are the signs

that will guide me to your side?

I want to believe

in the rumors you left behind:

this second the first second

of the rest of my life.