It is a small thing, small matter,
and yet, magnificent, profound, terrifying,
yes, terrifying. She is now responsible
for this thing, this love, her love
has assumed a shape, a form, and it lies there,
sleeping, not too far removed
from dream, silence, and basking.
There will be misunderstandings, there will be
windows that open to grief and warm air,
doors that slam shut and open again.
There will be these things, and more.
But for now, right now, there is something pure
which causes her to reflect upon what she has done,
the promise that has been fulfilled into a totem of flesh,
breath and being, and she understands that she is somehow different,
that her love from here on out will be predicated upon vigil
and fierce, golden worry.