At first light, the old letters fade,
dissolving in gold,
all my ache unwritten by the day.
But morning is gentle now.
You see every mark on me
scars, shadows, the small failings
and call it beautiful.
In your gaze, light and darkness
learn to share the same body.
I have loved my wounds for keeping me alive,
but you teach me how to live unguarded.
This is why my book has to end:
I don’t need poetry to survive you.
It is 8:01.
The pen rests in the daylight,
and I am whole enough to be silent.