Mentor

There’s a steadiness in him,
like stones under a river,
worn smooth by everything
they’ve carried.

His words are autumn sun,
just enough
to warm the places
I didn’t know were cold.

I sit at the edge of his warmth,
never crossing the line,
never naming the feeling
that opens like a window
whenever he laughs.

The light loves him.
I just try
to stand
where it falls.