Made of Air and Rain

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id I have lips
before you kissed them,
before they were moulded
so perfectly to your own?
       indeed, did I exist
before that time,
       or was I made
of empty air? and how
did I ever sit down
and not disappear through
the chair that held me
before you?
       and did I have
this body, before you held me
and gave me faith in flesh,
now no less faithful
than the muscle
of the heart; did I even have
the name of any such part
before you came
to claim me?
       was I half-asleep? before
your touch awoke me, and threw
a giant rock to break
the stillness of my soul
at its deepest pool,
to stir dizzying circles
to surround me;
       or was I merely
a drop of rain
hanging off some cloudy ledge,
until it found the petal
on which to give its life?
        and you a warm tear drop
that like the rain in the wind,
clears the settled dust
and feeds the earth, melting
away a season of frost
in welcoming the spring;
       or until you sang to me
and wrote of me
was I just a blank page?
waiting for the words
to dissolve fiction into reality,
or soften thought to fantasy;
and to return hope back to me
and a hardened heart and its rhyme
to strike its tick-tock chime;
       and time is no longer a lifeless clock;
it is you whom marks off the days,
no longer grey or black; but an array
of every colour that brightens the day;
       and was I ever
such the lark?
I sing with you;
with you I see the Sun
even in the dark.

Published 29 December, 2010

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