The sky loses its blue while you sleep.
A breeze through the bedside window
lifts one of your gray hairs.
Perhaps you're dreaming of childhood,
chasing birds from cherry trees, say,
or the red laughter of a cherry
popped between your teeth.
A single drop of rain falls
on a fat green leaf.
Just this drop on just that leaf,
just this me and just that you.
You don't believe in dragons,
or the slow soliloquies of flowers,
don't believe in soulmates or fate,
in invisible threads from certain stars
knotted around our hearts.
You believe in blood, in marrow
fashioning bones like other bones.
On the same hip that moved
when the baby was made, you carry it.
You believe it's more than enough
just to be a woman.