Where You Come From

I come from the spaces
between your fingers,
reside in the creases
of your palm.
I am what the
fortuneteller reads
in her room
hazy with the dreams of a dawn.

I come from the worn velvet
of your chair,
reside in the indentation of your self.
I am the silence that
floats on the dust
and dissipates in the air,
when you ask, “What else?”.

I come from the look
on your face,
reside in the parting
of your lips.
I am the reflection
of the seer
in your iris’ eclipse.