what grace is:
morning sunshine on your face,
the ability to sleep in,
to turn over and find love there.
did i learn to be grateful in these moments?
at least, i have learned to hoard it up:
gather it up in handfuls,
and stuff it under the pillows
for a night that's not as warm,
or a silent midafternoon cry.
the loss of you
is much more peaceful this time;
a simple lack, a quiet burn.
time gathers into a cold, hard lump
at the base of my throat,
a weight to push through for air,
pain for oxygen,
a reminder with each breath
that respiration and rhythm come naturally
with you, in the morning, in the sun.
and tonight, i'll give myself
one glorious heat-soaked moment
to preen in the memory of love:
the gift of waiting, of solar grace.