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Your maps

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I know you

like the cracks on the ceiling above my bed
like tracing the lines of an invisible map
Your basketball hands
Your bitten nails
The curve of your eyelashes
Or your nose
Your spine
The blond hair on your legs

I can recognize you by your shadow

By the way you walk with your shoulders
sloped to the front
as if weighing you down
or the way you touch your beard
when you’re upset

I know your laugh
That joyous staccato sound
The trail of your tears
falling down your cheeks
Your crooked smile

And there are
maps of your memory
carved into the things I will leave for the world
the poems I will write

Your shadow is printed on these pages
You do not need to look hard




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