Emergence
There is no one kinder than you.
There is no one who burns half as bright as you.
There is no one gentler, no one softer than you.
There is no one as radiant as you.
There is no one as blinding.
There is no one who towers above all men, as you do.
And as the days pass, your stature grows, the shadows lengthen, the world diminishes.

There is no one who engulfs hearts like you
It is one thing to conquer, and it is another to be surrendered to.
There is no one worthy of surrendering to, but for you.
They say that the eyes are the mirror to the soul. If so, there are none that twinkle as truthfully as yours do.

There is no animal which will keep its companionship from you.

There is no velvet richer than yours.
There is no sun hotter than yours.
There is no sea that brims deeper, larger than yours.
There is no universe that contains more worlds than yours.

There is no sky higher than your flight.
There is no wind greater than your sail.
There is no shore greater than your tide.

There is no ellipse that can shorten your sentences.
There is no fall that can break your run.
There is no height that can faze you.
There are no paths that close their secrets to your footsteps.

There are no trees that do not let you drink from their great roots, from their young vines and the wine of their age.

There is no greater faith than the one I have laid at your feet.

And if the world is an oyster, every prayer I whisper and every thought you weave, pile upon each other in iridescent layers.

And slowly, through all the tumult and upheaval, a pearl as white as virtue and as firm as patience emerges.

For there is no story greater than ours.

On Loving
Loving you is walking with you late in the evening on mossy rocks, knowing you'll hold my hand if I slip.

Loving you is counting the months, weeks, days, hours, minutes, seconds till the plane lands and I walk out of the airport into your arms.

Loving you is cooking for you. It is making the same dish over and over for you just because you liked it so much the first time around.

Loving you is standing on tiptoes to wrap my arms around your neck.

Loving you is feeling your hands close around the small of my back as I lean in close to you.

Loving you is writing to you, endless pages of words, happy words, sad words, loving words, teasing words, thoughtful words.

Loving you is waking up to you. Loving you is waking you up and pushing you into the bathroom to bathe.

Loving you is waiting for you at home, while you're out and about doing things.

Loving you is watching your vision blossom into so many indescribably beautiful photographs.

Loving you is dipping my hands into paint and weaving a burst of colour on your wall.

Loving you is leaving every piece of my love in a small room, to keep you warm on the coldest of days.

Loving you is staring at everything you've made for me, for hours, unbeknownst to you, feeling your love seep out to me like the warm yellow light from a lamp.

Loving you is loving the dogs you love so much, the streets you love so much, the nights, the forests, the mists that you love so much.

Loving you is loving your land, your home, your language, your customs, your people.

Loving you is sometimes, hurting you unknowingly, yearning only to know that you will not turn away from me.

Loving you is asking for your forgiveness, sitting by your feet, resting my head on your knees. Loving you is knowing humility, and finding it in your lap.

Loving you is understanding kindness and love in all its forms when I look into your eyes.

Loving you is slowly, gradually building a universe of dreams that glimmer more real than reality.

Loving you is knowing hope, and hoping for a future.

Loving you is all I know.
Loving you is all I do.

...loving you is like learning a new language. I don't know what I'm doing wrong, but gradually, I understand you. Loving you is like being fluent in you, knowing what you like and what you dislike.

Containment
I have a heart.
An empty little heart.
And I mean to fill it with all sorts of things.
I want to fill it with joy and happiness.

I want to fill it with warm paws and wagging tails.
I want to fill it with wet noses and playful bites.

I want to fill it with simple things
Like a plastic bag dancing in the wind
Like the sound of dry leaves crunching underfoot
Like the smell of woodspice in the air when the train crosses the marshland
Like my mother's hands
Like kites taking wing
Soaring in the hot blue skies of noon
And gliding through the pale pink hues of evening
Like my father's eyes
Sometimes stern, sometimes wistful and nostalgic
Very rarely tearful
And always warm upon my forehead

I want to fill it with childhood dreams
Lost summers, faraway winters
The patter of rabbits' feet
The comforting lap of my aunt, who was more than a mother
The birds in the guava tree
Half-eaten rose hips
And nibbled away pomegranates
The clumps of hot dust rising from the courtyard
Freshly watered, and gradually cooling
Sparrows' nests in the eaves
An ancient table crowded with inks, brushes and an easel
Bookshelves groaning under the weight of well-thumbed books
Floors and corners as cool as ice
Heaters as snug as a blanket
Stolen icecream
Borrowed tea

Most of all, I want to fill it with love
I want to fill it with you
I want to fill it with all the memories we've made in a hundred different places at a thousand different times
Like the pebble on the road where I first met you
Like the handful of sand from the beach where your hand lingered upon mine
Like the gravel from that night and those streets belonging to a city of old forts and new dreams
Like a clump of grass from an unnamed park in a foreign land
Like a fistful of water from a river where the moon walks
Like the dust that tumbled along with a few stray strands of hair on your spotless floor

Like all the streets and shadows and nights and mornings and lives and loves I've lived in every line I've ever written

Like a mouthful of sky from all the dreams where I've met you, walked with you, cried with you, laughed with you

Like all the things we have been, have never been and will be.

I just want to fill my little heart with so many things
Till it is bursting at the seams

And then I want to give it to you
In cupped palms
Like a prayer

Hold it together for me?
Hold all of it together for me?

 The Waiting
As you make your journey through hills and ravines, to the City of Vales, someone paces endlessly for you. 

The pure, unblemished morning of the countryside kisses you. Someone remembers a similar chaste kiss.

The cold slips hands into yours. Someone rubs their hands together impatiently, searching the road.

Your eyes skim over a landscape that is an old friend and yet, a stranger. Someone thinks of the bonds that have entwined over the years.

The forests all seem like the forest of your youth, yet with many thickets unexplored. Strange places beckon with inviting gleams.

You thrill in the adventure, while someone weaves a garb of hopes and dreams,waiting for you to cut across the wilderness.

The roar of the engine winds across a mountain road, shattering the stillness. Someone's ears resound with the silent pounding of a wait.

The sky stretches out before you like a lazy cat. The waiting unwinds before someone else, just as slowly.

You carve your own path through a land of unusual visions, while someone else draws imaginary lines across the map.

The wind sings songs of leafy dreams and the slow, deep sleep of trees. Someone has awoken from their slumber to the prospect of you.
    
The journey melts into hours. Day turns into twilight, but someone keeps you company with every turn of the wheel.

The evening's first stars peep out to watch this tale unfold. The waning moon steps out to act narrator to the story.

And as you reach your unhurried destination, someone waits at the end, with an intensity equal to mine, or perhaps even more.

Knowing
I know just how your heart aches.
And for your sake, I hope it aches a little less.

I know how you miss those fields.

I know how you miss the night wind, so familiar, and whispering the new, old secrets of the woods.

I know how you miss your companions who match you step for step, who know when to walk with you, and just when to break into a run.

I know how you miss the smell of home and the lights that light up inside of you when you see those windows from down the road.

I know how you miss the birdcalls and confusing the birds with a cacophony just as real as theirs.

I know how you miss those songs, the voices that smell of wet earth and the words fragrant from the hearth.

I know how you miss the walks, with the lightness of early mornings and the dew of well past midnight.

I know how you miss the laughter that spills over rocks and explodes in the little white puffs of the tall bulrushes.

I know how you miss the warmth that woke you up as gently as the winter sun, that lived on your skin through the day, that put you to bed.

I know how you miss those towering greybeards and their green laps and the valleys second to none.

I know how you miss each and every little thing that makes you, that builds you day by day, slowly, turning you into the person you are.

Most of all, I know how your heart aches for home, for sanctuary, for a haven to hide all your treasures in and admire them one by one.

I know what runs through your mind when sleep eludes you tonight and heartache leads you by the hand to the open door of the train.

I know the things that you turn over, slowly, in your head, as you examine the days past, turning the memories round and round.

I know how weary you feel when heartache is replaced with exhaustion and slowly, the waters of sleep pool around you, unawares.

I know how you'll feel when you wake up the next morning... a little disoriented, a little displaced, with the taste of home still warm.

I'll sit here by my window, look out at the night sky that you must have gazed at, tonight, and most of all, I'll wish I knew how you feel.

I'll wish I made you feel at home.