Mist comes and goes on a mountain

Mist comes and goes on a mountain
Peter

Mist comes and goes
I hear your name
so foreign
the name you gave me
I still bear
and place
beside my fathers’.

We lived
together
in that tiny house
I learned
your touch
and what it meant
to be a woman
wife.

And you, I think
a tenderness
you had not known.

I waited
in the afternoons
for you
for your stories
for wild new words
that you found
in your language
in your many languages.

You called me
Francesca
And I became
Someone
I did not know