Like Sunday Morning

Her breathing descends into
the slow rhythm
of peace
of joy
of love, true and first.

I marvel at the very
being of her
and that she is here.

My fingers play
delicately over her
smooth raven hair,
to keep her slumber

There are
and have been
many hard things
in my life.

Being with her
is easy.

2017-05-23 12.11.46

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