His.
I was his when the first star burst onto the midnight sky
I was his when the first leaf fell on an autumn wind
I was his when the first rain soaked the desert sand
His when he smiled at me
His when he spoke to me
His when my pillow welcomed his tears
I knew him like the sound of bird calls in the morning
Like the whir of dragonfly wings
Like the melting of snow
He has always been imprinted onto the canvas of my soul
Always an echo of my very own heartbeat
Always the river that threatened to drown me
More here…plus a little surprise! http://www.elephantjournal.com/2017/01/his-poem/