All of You

I have been touched
by hands that held no heart —
grasping without depth,
gripping without soul.

And I have been held
by hearts that trembled like birds,
too gentle to land,
too fleeting to stay.

I have danced with power
disguised as love,
and love
disguised as softness.

But now,
I ask for neither echo nor illusion.

I call in the one
whose gaze stays steady
when I soften —
whose spine does not tremble
at the weight of truth.

I do not seek fire that devours,
nor comfort that forgets to lead.

I seek the flame that holds,
builds,
and keeps its word
even when the night grows long.

I have walked with what was almost.
I have carried what others could not.

Now —
I open
to what arrives
whole.

Not in fragments.
Not in shadow.
But with breath,
with spine,
with all of you.