In stillness at sunrise,
I slide bloodstone beads
between my fingers,
counting nothing—my hands,
invisible to words
shut out my mouth and eyes,
and I peer into
your dark eye where
mystics whispered, straining
to hear the secrets
you buried there when
it was simple to fall awake—
I catch just a glimpse
and drop the beads to press
my fingers in your palm
and my thumb on your knuckles;
I am here, I am here.