Will My breath, mysterious to me The long weathers of my arms My eyes flecked like broken leaves The crook of my elbow The secret field under the curve of my hair: All to be divided between you so that when you who came from my body start down our road when the air is heavy and the frogs are singing from the swamp because it has rained or is about to rain, I will be there. But in the end -- and you cannot help this, every generation does the same-- you will drive me out. I will be a rustling in the trees then as if something had just flown. I will be the skin that stills the standing water. And when dusk falls, I will be a firefly, blinking green. For I can never stop being amazed at your beauty, my music-limbed boy, my woman who loves numbers in her soul. But wait. My love for you is hundreds of lanterns searching the dark. In the gathering night, look around. I will be all the fireflies.