Maybe when one enters the darkened room,
Opening the door in a narrow burst of light,
The child at last blissfully asleep,
Here, now, the furtive kiss upon the cheek,
Exiting slowly, exquisitely quietly, the night
Restored as the door is cracked against the gloom …
Here, now, the freedom, the sense of sheer relief,
One feels the grace of love like an anguished chord,
Oceanic, overwhelming, like grief
Doubled into joy, too real for words.
Copyright by Nicholas Gordon. Free for personal or non-commercial use.