Not knowing if there will be tomorrow
for us, I open my eyes knowing,
from somewhere, you’ll be there
fussing over breakfast or
greasing your son’s unruly hair—
More than in some mirror’s bold embrace
you are here, captured in more than smiles.
There is no other face I want to see
on mornings, faults, or no fault. There’s nothing
I can say or do, miracles like this
don’t happen every day.
Contented knowing that you care much more
than about your hair getting frazzled in
a squeamish drizzle. I wish there was some
instrument to foretell futures, to let
me know under what moon change we’ll meet
and if we do, will everything be neat—