IN THIS LIFE, YOU ARE LOVED

Morning kisses you

on the forehead

wide-eyed and wet

with renewal

and again, the sun winks

batters her red lashes

and paints you

pink and rosy

the sky, a cup

holds all our days

then, the moon gallops in

like a knight in a tale

silver thing, smitten

your daily salvation.

It is a kind of love

how the night

with her wet fingers

peels at your skin

sweet thing comes

easily undone.

When the hum of night

heavies your head

and dreams

with all their vastness

all their glory

are the feathered things

that sing you to sleep

and your desires

uncoil in the dark

like tightly-wound stars

each with a pulse

and a plan for you

Do you call it what it is?

Do you call it Love?