I want you to know
one thing.
-Pablo Neruda

I want you to know at least
seven things


then a million more
until you effervesce with inquiry
and insight
quaking in a peach soft moon,
the chattering of delicate birds
rippling from you through my mind,
small birds calling out, circling each other
through the night.


An aged tree pruned,
ruined or saved,
with each mincing cut,
from thinned branch
seven nascent buds
extend upward from me towards you.


I love you as a river
swells against ephemeral banks
and divides with elevation;
cutting tributes reach 
smaller into the widest part
of my soul, my watershed.


The gnarled roots, airy azure talons, 
gossamer heartstrings embrace my eyes
and show you in my dreams.