Because we are closer

--you have the right to be still,
as every word I say pushes
like the hands of a tomten
at the gates of what I feel.
He is s not seen, but never far away,
and his presence is as certain
as what stands between us.
The words he speaks flame like candles
in a warm house set in the cold places.

This ancient guardian who was with me
as a child: he is yours now.
He craves to be invisible, and known,
speaks in his tongue eloquently of love,
buries his words in shafts of darkness,
and covers his tracks in perfect snow.

He speaks while you are dreaming,
makes promises and praises your eyes
in a language of frozen quiet.
And when you wake, you will know
that the words came anyway
and you knew them before you woke.

You have the right to be still
in the dark nights
that remind me of the darkness
of your hair. The northern quiet
is full of this meaning, and I will lie
thinking like the rain of what
I might say to be visible and known
to you, as you lie silently
inside the gates of what I feel.