He's the dew on the
morning lawn. He builds
nests inside her head. She
can't rest with a hummingbird

hovering in her ears. He's the coffee
and the bacon. No mistaken he's
the itch in the middle of her back
she can't scratch. He's the speck

floating in her iris. He's the shot
and the virus. He's the air she breathes,
the pollen, and the sneeze. He's the sun
over the horizon. He's the moon that

lies in the sea. He's you and
he's me. He's the trees standing
tall, the crimson leaves in the fall. He's icicles
dangling off the eaves. He's not gone.
He doesn't leave.