Paper-Light
You were here before me.
I make you again, paper-light, so you can meet me.
I don’t leave fingerprints—only the dust of uncovering
on the side of my hand.
Even on parchment or canvas, you remain yourself.
I draw only what I see; that honesty frightens us
and saves us both.
Every stroke of my pencil or brush pulls us closer.
Time loosens here.
I get lost in you. You whisper without words.
I want what anyone wants: to be seen and kept.
I make the window.
you look back—gentle and certain
and I am known.














