Sometimes he looks at me
like we just met
and he wonders
if it will always
be this good
and I want to tell him
thank you
but not in words
I want to button myself up
inside the wet room of his heart
and press the hushed bigness
of my gratitude
into its soft walls
gratitude
for seeing the light
that ignites
my plainest self
the way I imagine
the beetle feels
about the moon
as it hoists itself up
in the thick dark sky
collapsing the day
and transforming him from a dull thing
crawling along the lumpy earth
into a wink of light
finally
he is a firefly again
lit up by the moon
releasing his luminous secret
to the world.