She brought his knuckles to her lips
Kissed them quickly
"Don't be scared, Sweet Boy
You are a wonderful thing"

Sometimes he asked her questions in the middle of the night
"Things you hate"
"Mosquitoes, scary movies, and disappointing people"
"Things you love"
"Adventures, pancakes, and pianos"
"Do you always answer in threes?"
"Occasionally, sometimes, and when I feel like it"

She didn't know how to make him believe he was special
But he was
He made her smile

He sat next to her quietly
And she painted him
True, it was a bird —
But it was a bird who sat quietly and made her wonder if she was in love
So secretly she was painting him

She liked to listen to him talk
She liked to look into his eyes
She liked to think about him always

He liked to touch her hair
He liked to make her laugh
He liked to surprise her

And for the first time with sincerity
They wished they knew how to dance

With Sincerity

There you are, in that world of mist
I knew you would go
Far, far away
And so you stand
At the edge of everything

Cold air reddens your cheeks
I feel them beneath my calm fingertips
Smooth as marble
Numb as sleep

You stare in wonder - then -
Break the silence by laughing merrily
And it echoes back to me
Far, far away

From that world of mist
To a November silence
To a silly girl who,
Despite everything,
Would be that mist if she could

Oh yes, I would be that mist
I would caress and envelop you
Until I had taken in all of you
I would claim you as my own

Watching as 
You stare in wonder - then - 
Break the silence by laughing merrily
Make the air shudder as I laughed along

I would pervade the fabric of your jacket
And you would pull me ever closer
At the edge of everything
Where we looked for a foreign land

And you would love me
Without reason, without thought
As I love you

As you love her

Mist

There is a certain way you touch your lovers
Like something precious
Like something found
Like the warm summer sun has appeared in December
And you are the author of the end of it all

There is a certain rhythm to your heart beat
Like something tribal
Like something wild
Like the ocean's dull thunder is kissing the shoreline
And you are the author of the end of it all

There is a certain music in your bloodstream
Like something fleeting
Like something pure
Like thousands of larks were released from their tethers
And you are the author of the end of it all

There is a certain grace in your whole being
Like something newborn
Like something frail
Like a dancer whose spins wheel faster and faster
And you are the author of the end of it all

There is a certain silence when our eyes meet
Like understanding
Like something scared
I am curled up in darkness but I know why you're tired
And you know that I have never been touched at all

There is a certain realness to it all
Cracked and unlovely
Breaths sacred and terrifying
Words secret and strange
I am parchment and ink and the smell of old books
And you are the author of the end of it all

The Author

Unsurprisingly
I find myself motionless
The rhythm of my breathing
In cyclic contemplations
Of the disparity in how we regard each other

How everything I know of you is intentional
While I am known to you through
Incidental pleasantries
Questions asked more of kindness than curiosity

And in the spaces I found us
Intimately similar
You found only
The spaces

Spaces

Let me tell you who she is
She is the quiet one
Who tumbles down with the rain
And sighs into empty rooms
And stares at everyone when they speak
She is the wild one
Who dances without music
And sees the light in each person
And whispers stories out her bedroom window
She is the hopeful one
Who's never known how to let go of people
Not even one
She writes the words that move the mountains
And paints the skies with careful hands
She is the waiting one
Who burns bright
And (as a candle)
Cuts the night apart
She finds treasures
Sees beauty
And she—
She hears you

She always listens.

I observe you tread upon ancient stepping stones
(Weather-beaten guides to a great perhaps)
Kind-hearted heels fall calloused on cobbles—
And I count them all radiant for the places they touch you

Horizon lines and meridians
Bend to meet you, strain to see you
A sky fills with sun
To brush rays through your hair

The passionate sea
Stirs its waves up to meet you
And I find a place I can watch on the sand

You don’t look back, ever.

You are not beautiful 
In ways we might measure beauty
Your footprints, so sacred 
Are not full of grace

You are so beautiful
In ways we don’t measure beauty
Your spirit, your sweetness
Shines warmth from your face

I observe you stride forward in courageous apprehension
(Traversing the moors to an uncharted land)
You join the day dawning; I set with the moon—
And I count them both radiant for the places they touch you

The ground opens its mouth
And unearths age-old secrets
If only to find you, to capture your gaze

The snow is most silently
Yearning to keep you
A bleeding forever
Sets that silence ablaze

You won’t come back, ever.

It is then you brush by me in an instance of closeness
A flicker of recognition in twin pairs of blue eyes
Breath stills in a moment of sharp recollection—
And I count myself radiant for the places I touched you. 

Radiant

"Months"

January enters with quiet nobility
February tastes of promises and sleet
March is a faint melody sang with hesitance
April cries for everyone (but sometimes happy tears)
May is a gentle smile, a sweet hand holding yours
June breathes deeply and truly
July is a rich month - full of life
August is a heart thrashing wildly against its own chest
September has never decided if it is an end or a beginning
October is the heady aroma of spices and the color orange
November is a cold gray sigh
December is the still moment in the middle of the night 
When you realize you are in love


Months

In all of those sleepless mornings
When we sat on hard chairs and listened to dronings
She soon became the sun I woke for

I remember the first time I saw her smile
I was staring at her, thinking
If only
If only I knew her thoughts
Those distant wanderings of her mind

She stares out the window 
At the floor
At her small pink fingernails
But never at me

She moves like a dancer
Like her lungs are full of song
The texture of her blue-gray knit sweater
Looks like something I’d like to touch
And those pale sleepless eyes
Understand things I never could

Her shoes laces were dirty, I noticed
Her lips were cracked and dry
Yet she felt so soft to me
When I touched her hand in my mind
(A purposeful accident
I’d like to have)

A crack of thunder ripped through the air
Causing the window panes to shudder
And jolting her upwards from her tired posture

A precursor to bright, merry eyes

She was captivated by the pouring rain
I was captivated by her

And she began laughing
As a young girl
In that lecture hall
In her blue-gray knit sweater
Staring out the window
Like her lungs were full of song

In All of Those Sleepless Mornings

I've been staring out a window
Eyes bleary
Mind still
In the most incredible silence

The world is quiet here
And every thought,
So carefully constructed,
Freezes over
Finds solace in a numbness I scarcely dare to submit to

As snow dances its way to earth
The chill is visible
The expanse is vast
The earth is white and new again

And you watch this scene
With glowing heart
In a cheeriness I wish to share in
In a warmth apart from me

Brianna Riggio

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