Boreal (cello)

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Pineboard walls warm to touch, a June

storm coding itself into the metal siding

on evenings we go to bed early. You,

my soul's friend, undress for night

with the relief that means we're alone now,

free as long as darkness lasts.

I can tell

we’ve met the music place,

stillness at the center of spinning,

all the gravities of our lives

balancing together.

Hear the rain rewrite the score in andante,

how the air says lento, lento, there's a bow

for every cello — and thus you are to me.

The long note buzzing low, gold

cutting through a crescendo sky, your shoulders,

your ribs, a piano inside.