Here he is

         on top of a mountain
         followed me past jagged rocks
         & knotted ancient roots

         I set the pace   I noticed 
every weed & wildflower
         along the way

         he pointed out a sprig of chicory
         orphaned at the trail’s brim
         periwinkle, sun-starved 

         he said it was pretty    
         I noticed    he sees 
         what he wants to 

Here he is 

         squatting on a blue plastic stool
         back damp with rain 
         I’m safe beneath the overhang

         I could live here, he says
         he thinks he’s fallen in love 
         with cheap beer

         rich broth bright with mint 
         city backdrop blurred by rain
         moped traffic twinkles 

         salt spreads soft across my tongue 
         doubt tastes the same as truth 
         I can’t live in Hanoi 

         forever   I could stay
         on this wet plastic stool
         next to you 

Here we are

         swimming in the pool 
         of light that married us
         reprieved from eight pandemic 

         months   of roaring silence 
         not between the two of us
         but us two & the shattered world

Here     we

         remember music: ripple of water
         yawn of morning breeze 
         evening wind’s terse sigh 

Here   he

         unearths my secrets
         peels them away 
         like dead skin

         I planted them on purpose 
         left them sprouting 
         from the fringes of my limbs   

         obvious
         as orphaned chicory 
         hoping that he’d see

Here we are

         squinting through prism glass
         searching for the mountain light 
         that followed us 

         but often slips 
         away behind these endless 
         rows of houses   

         here   no
         purple flowers 
         dot the yard

 here

         he’ll assure me 
         here we are
         meant to be 

         I could learn 
         to see what I want 
         to see