Do you remember
that day in the barn,
light falling through slats like gold across hay,
and how your
hand slipped, my fingers curling around your wrist
like rope cinched tightly around the saddle below?
laughed as you dangled and twisted,
suspended above the long fingernails of the rusted baler,
arched your back like a ballerina,
your free hand extended in grace, fingers splayed with joy.
I, lips pursed,
pulled you into the loft, our true home,
you settling like a scarecrow into the deep straw,
and we looked
out at the many years in the distance
and promised to carve them like mountains into the waiting sky.