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.