I know you in the specific way
that only time will build—
the way that only years
of showing up has slowly filled
my understanding of the full specific you
that’s there.
The you that’s in the tired shape
and the shape when the day has been too long.
The shape when you’re happy
and the shape with the song
in your head that you keep humming
without knowing that you hum.
I know you in the full way
that the years have let me come to.
Not the surface and the show—
not the projected shape,
not the useful convenient self,
but the you that you actually are.
And that is the love’s greatest invention:
knowing a person in the actual and the full.
I know the face you make
when you’ve already made the decision
but you’re letting me catch up
before the final incision
of the discussion
into the conclusion you’ve reached.
I know the face
and I don’t rush it,
I let it beached—
found naturally.
I’ve learned to let you land,
I’ve learned the timing of the letting you expand
into the conclusion on your own instead of mine.
I’ve learned this over years
of reading all the sign.
Knowing you by heart
is the greatest of the ordinary.
Knowing you by heart
is the daily and the momentary,
the accumulation of the years
of paying close attention.
Knowing you by heart
is the will and the won’t
of your particular person
and your particular soul—
this is the long-haul’s goal,
the longest regular bar
of the song we’ve been composing
in the ordinary weeks.
Knowing you by heart
is what the quiet devotion seeks:
the way you actually feel
about the things that matter
and the things that don’t.