more than a few times

when You sleep
(dormirse bien, mi ciela),
and I listen,
something flies
right through me:
Your spirit, or
maybe Your majesty,
or maybe just an echo
of the ecstasy
that we have known;
either way,
what is shown to me
is spectacular,
singular,
in its particularity:
it is, at once,
fondly kept,
and a reason why
I have wept for joy,
more than a few times, baby,
more than a few times.



November 11, 2009, for the Wifey.

Copyright © 2009, Ricky A. Pursley. All rights reserved.