John Biscello

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.