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.