You have a stone shaped like a star;
There is only one poking through cloud cover.
Tracing a circle around four city blocks,
Singing anytime under my breath toward the center,

Reading a perforated letter I wrote you,
Thought you might like to know, and that I might love to tell you –
The center is holding the air that I gave you
But now I am coughing up breaths when I see you.

I am holding it for minutes in between contact.
The firs in Black Mountain don’t touch me like that.
You can always come back.
You can always come back.