Before we met, I lived under a different sun. The air was used to support a steady flow of disbelief, expanding me, spreading me out, making me obtuse and, in a way, superficial…while also constricting me. The air was used to fuel my grieving.

Before we met, I knew you. I knew you in the way I would respond to feeling smooth stones beneath my feet, or wind blowing by me, tickling the fuzzy hair on my arms. I knew you in the joy I felt looking at the blue sky over my childhood home. I knew you in the night sky, which cradles my dreams. I knew you in the moss earth I laid on in the Redwood National Forest, back when I was a tiny, tiny girl. I was married to all these sensations before I met you.

But now that we’ve met, I am married to galaxies. The sky cannot contain me. The sun is reduced to a candle, compared to what I see. Sheer as a cliff, all walls fall down in this whole new world. All the walls drop away because you are here with me. You are my muse.