Margins

 

I guess it’s the delicate ness of

her hands—extended giving purpose

to my life beyond physical but contained

within the idea visual of her soft

cheek or goose bump flesh, eyebrow

raised when she’s mad and I’m so

deeply involved in her margins and

she in mine, eleven years of love

feels like we started yesterday. Will

always feel like yesterday, lived

tomorrow and began today—

anew fresh

a blooming lotus flower