I felt a particular longing for home today.
I Googled “desert gecko,”
looked through the images.
That wasn’t it, though.
The gecko, I mean, it wasn’t
what I was looking for.
It was something more.
Something very specific, like maybe
the warmth of desert air (call it wind).
The way it sits against your skin.
And you know the weight of it—it’s nothing,
the weight of nothing and silence all at once.
Today I wanted to walk outside, a hundred paces, maybe,
And find myself seated on a boulder, distinct points of light overhead,
With the wind, watching. Looking for geckos. For nothing at all.
You are warm as you nap beside me, even in these early and newly cool days of fall. Your breath is even and rhythmic, in tune with the calmness of so much else this time of year. You have been a sun-soaked summer sidewalk until now, and yet this evening you prove you can also be the quiet softness of brightening, deepening, learning leaves.