When all these rooms are warm
With the laughter of my children
And the table is is a painted canvas
For a bellyfull of bounty
And my husband sits beside me
In Biblical tranquillity and we no longer spar
For ownership of our musty, dank corners.
When we watch the tiny brush stroke of
Descending night paint single points of
Pink and phthalo blue amid the dark
And let free our love to crack the seemingly
Impenetrable rock of our secrets.
And we uncurl our ears
And attune to the absolute harmony
Of two unfrozen droplets
Surrendering to the sun
And finding peace.
I will, for you.