This love was always
such a simple thing —
love of your bones, your limbs,
your snuggle, your warm, heavy head

How could I fail so utterly
to know my only duty
was to pass that love still gleaming,
my bone to yours, shiny and smooth,
clear, unequivocal,
holy and pure?

Here is my prayer —
in your presence to see
that this crucial transmission
has always been given,
with joy to perceive
that you’ve always received it,
it never depended on me.

©Wendy Mulhern
June 23, 2015