When I Imagine You

There's silver
hair, evidence
of a life beyond youth.

The hands seducing
from polished keys,
a tristesse nocturne even
Chopin would admire.

And the way,
arm in arm, we wind along
the Left Bank
or Land of Sky.

There's the close whisper
of your breath, your touch—
this body remembering
how to sing.

And most, when I imagine you,
I feel my fractal image leap
from yours—facets
of the same ecstatic star.