sweetie, more and more often
people call me by names other than I know,
as though they would abandon me in the baptistry.
they talk to me addressing other faces and I
watch their dialogue,
their questions and answers, their smiles and foreheads,
butterflies freshly freed of their pupas –
I put my hand on your chest and croon my dream:
no matter how far away I would be, never let me go.