I want to run my finger down your index of who you are
and jump straight to the parts of you.
I want to take my time reading through one of your chapters
so I can fold corners of you that inspired me most.
my instincts now recognize an art form only flowers have mastered
and I am grateful to see.
you offer glory in ways i can never dishonor
and ways even you never understood.
your index is a festival.