The Gift

was not just the mangoes
or the orchid or palms.
It was also what you left for later—
a clean shirt and a man’s deodorant
standing erect in the bathroom
claiming domain.
It isn’t just TV repair
or morning coffee.
It is parted curtains.
It is ease. It is time
like a slow river,
moving me in the hand
of its current.
I am floating in the moment
where I see the gift
is you.