The Light I Leave On

My love moves toward you
before I can teach it restraint.

It asks if you are okay
even when I know
you may not be ready
to tell me the truth.

It remembers
what made you tired,
the things you said in passing,
the burdens you tried
to make sound smaller.

It leaves a light on
in my mind
for the chance
that you might return
and need someone to listen.

You may never see
how often I make room for you
inside an ordinary day.

But you are there—
in the concern I cannot switch off,
in the tenderness
that keeps reaching for you
before I even decide to.