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/