Mentor

Scaling your words like crags I found
silence
speaking in a mouthful of sun
and I say you are young
for your lips are not stone
to the rain’s fall
I say you are lovely to speak
in a mouthful of sun
nor does summer await you.

I see the midnight
heavy as windows sealed against fire
and the tears
coiled like snakes in your eyes
I see your forehead like snow
and the names of the so many winters
your fingers play over
plucking out rays of light
to anoint me home;

Yet I say you are young
and your lips are not stone
to be weathered
rather a song
learned when my aprils were fallow.
I sing this for beacon now
lighting us home
each to our separate house.