that is, hold me,
for your holding
is what makes me what I am,
Your thought of me defines me,
my movement and my voice,
my love, my focus, my desire,
my strength —
this is all your great idea
So I am not
(though it come back and back
like a recurring dream)
a crier on a mountain,
whipped by wind,
my voice blown back,
noticing whatever truth
I climbed up here to tell
is lost
My words, my song, my truth
come from you —
they are not lost,
for you are making them
new in each moment,
fresh as each morning.
I learn myself from you.
©Wendy Mulhern
June 27, 2018
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