This is a piece of my heart left over
after the harvest, after the fire, after the feast.
This is the muscle that stretches its arms,
this is the ache that learned how to sing.
This is where I will hold you close,
soothing song of sympathy, drum roll
of hope, tune of gratitude,
and willingness to give everything
you could ask for, if only you would.
This I will feed you, milk and honey,
berries and cream and those warm figs
that fell off the tree, crusty
bread, olives and cheese,
these I will set on our table of
communion, a gaze between us
of forest, of gardens, of fields.
This I will hold, this I will release,
gladness that arched between us
like sun come back from the storm, like
the way the first man greeted his
flesh-formed maiden, like the world
had been created just for we two.