April 18, 2009
There are green sparks in your eyes as you wait for my answer.
The regretful 'no, sweetheart' does not diminish them
as your intensity holds.
My Emma, that green in them
is like the newly budding birch that I sit under later thinking
that I will bring you here
when I explain
that my truest worship is no more elaborate than this:
to close my eyes and breathe in and out
and let flow silent thanks
for all that is good and beautiful on earth.
The list is long and you are high upon it.