Birthday

I write to you in
Red: twelve paper
Pilgrims, each clambering
Through the mountainous communion of
A month to a
Temple of rain-dance and winter
Sunlight. I imagine
You watching me
Cutting the first
Slice in an early
June evening, one-handed as we
Fold our fingers into
An origami of Chinese shadow
Birds, as I blow
Out
The eighteen
Candles
So we can share our Eucharist
By the light of fingernail
Stars of
White icing and angels'-feather
Sprinkles. "What did you
Wish for?"
Maybe one day
You
Will sing me
To sleep in the shower. Maybe
You will be my bubbles to rise in,
Silent
And ecstatic as a sand-storm
In our sleepy eyes, and
Maybe we will
Shatter over the glass in a
Caligraphy of lullaby
Heartbeats and tarantella
Bells, a tangle of mist
And breathlessness
Around our plastic sky and brass
Curtain-rail horizon.
"What did I wish for?
Maybe one day, I will tell you."