An Ode

Homeward (Ode To)

When the room empties of voices

and gratitude steadies my breath,

you begin again—soft as a thread

slipping through the eye of the day—

you stay where my heart keeps secrets,

and lower still,

where my body’s gate remembers you.

Your trace follows me

down the street, a perfume-shadow,

guiding me to the house of your arms—

wide doors closing around me—

your eyes—rooms I step into—

and your laughter,

a ribbon circling my ribs

and fastening its bright knot to my heart.

Your mouth finds mine; the latch unclasps.

Un hálito se alza entre nosotros,

the hush turning warm and tidal,

and your body, patient engine, rows

the dark river we made of light.

You are the single brown bee;

I, the unruly bloom.

Your tongue maps my hidden roads,

your hands sew your shadow to my skin,

and the night—once pitch—

flares open like an effortless match.

Your kiss falls like a waterfall,

washing me into brightness.

At my opening the petals take courage,

unfurling their secret grammar;

your finger hums—small lightning—

finding the sweet kept only for you.

I could be a thousand women, or one—

all my pleasure lives where yours begins,

and calls your name

as if the word were home.

Marni Fraser

0826.2025