–for Rowan Beckett

My heart is a library. Across the pages of every book is streaked your name.
The shadows smell of leather and worn paper. Their whispers speak your name.

Evening arrives on gentle wings and coos her ebon lullaby
to drowse my eyes. She kisses me and whispers, across my cheek, your name.

The candle smokes and flirts its light into the corners of the room.
Drip its wax across the damp cloth of my heart to batik your name.

My ribs are a weeping beech shrouded with a snow of scars and skin.
Each dawn, an owl settles in the branches carrying, in its beak, your name.

Consecrate the Pilgrim’s sight with visions of your nakedness.
Descend from your holy palace to the altar where he seeks your name.

Joshua Gage is an ornery curmudgeon from Cleveland. His newest book, blips on a screen, is available on Cuttlefish Books. He is a graduate of the Low Residency MFA Program in Creative Writing at Naropa University. He has a penchant for Pendleton shirts, Ethiopian coffee, and any poem strong enough to yank the breath out of his lungs.