Binding

What binds us,is not blood & bone & tears it’s not, a golden ringor common history it isn’t pitter patof children’s feet: what binds us isstardust lost between the mystery of sleepthe bright awakening. A hand upon a cheek a whispered prayeryour ankle touching me. It can’t be storedfor future gain or dusted down& packed away. What binds us is thismoment lost between the echo of the owlnight rain on shutters a drowsy glanceyour face in sleep: & lest I settle for another,a love less deep what binds us hereas lovers we cannot grasp& keep it is settled in thechambers of my heart it beats its ownsweet beat that Universeremembers.