It is Before
Cool spring wind. It is before crickets.
Before the night sit-ups and downward dog.
It is before cobra pose and crow pose, the time
of sky that carries a moth the color of birch bark
To my desk who will land on the rim of my eyeglasses
mistaking reflection for source.
It has the scent of yesterday. It is
before the century I was dropped in the middle of,
before the one I’ll finish well ahead of
its resolution. Before the silence that follows
the wind, spring wind say where you came from
who you woke before me in the native tongue
of her flowers and the throat of her open
windowsill and the hair your whisper shifted
across her ear as she slept? It is before
her I tossed love into the wind like a kite
on a twine of trust, before I lost sight of it,
and still long before I have given it up.
Translations from the English 
This is beautiful.
Thanks Leonard. You know that means a lot to me.
I love this.
Wow. So glad sofreudian showed me your site. Loving oh so much.
This naming and unaming is unique, almost gnosis not in the religious but in the natural sense of naming what cannot be named but only ‘known’.
Wonderful poem!
I love the last line and feel like it was written for me, which of course is not the case. But that’s what good poems do to us — they make us feel we are their singular audience.
Thanks Dana, that’s a wonderful thing to hear.
That is some lucky wind and hair to be curled up inside of a writer’s mind like that. Lovely as it gets.