Some mornings, Lord, when I wake
to your light first streaming onto his face,
I am reassured: You, too, see the beauty
you carved into him, the beauty I pray
will linger on my skin.
For decades
your priests have made so difficult
my decision to lie with him, but
these awakenings are proof enough
of your will. Lord, I’ve followed tight,
worked rugged—only to see shivers
climb his body, his lungs, and I know
time is close.
I won’t ask for reasons,
because I know you have them, just
for one more memory, another morning
with your light spread across our bed.