I watch my husband sculpting
Slender hands more suited for symphonies
making deities and demons
giving the faceless shape.
He told me once he loved me for the way I spoke of dandelions
their golden heads whispering against my skin
while he caught sunlight in his laugh
and the crinkles by his eyes.
I thought nothing of his empty pockets
when dappled wood met faded concrete
and even the rain on my neck
could not cool me.