This is real-- although I do not know how

They think I invented this--
to have a friend, to feel safe
in the dark. When I talk about
You they nod and humor, thinking
it the same as a child speaks of ghosts.
I cannot explain Your coming
and going; the way You speak and
than You don't. I do not understand
Your new morning mercies,
or the way Your breath leaves no
fog on glass.