Eden

I am closest to you

when inside myself,

far enough back that

I tighten like a snake

coiling around a branch,

feeling for noise

in your silent garden,

roots below damp soil,

a knot of darkness.

The clouds become you.

I watch them overlap, passing above

the flower bed in kisses of light.

I am a witch. I conjure you

from absence.

My hand turns into your hand,

the air around me, your breath.

You are the shadow from the branch,

falling across my chest, you are

grassy dents, pink on my skin.

I push my fingers into the earth and scream

your name –

there is no reply from the wind.