the fabric of things

I thought I’d lost you. But you said: I’m imbued

in the fabric of things, the way

that wax lost from batik shapes

the pattern where the dye won’t take.

I make the space around you,

and so allow you shape. And always

you’ll feel the traces of that wax

soaked far into the weave:

the air around your gestures,

the silence after you speak.

That’s me, the slight wind between

your hand and what you’re reaching for,

chair and paper, book or cup:

that close, where I am: between

where breath ends, air starts.

~ Mark Doty

art by: Dali