At night I put on my armor.
Eyes open. Ears sharp. Muscles taught.
Awake that you may sleep.
I’ve been alert all day, protecting you
from demons
of
a different sort.
My loyalty
is fierce enough
to bat away the sleep
that yawns at me.
But deprivation
takes its toll
on the body and the mind.
The spirit
is not
untouched
by fleshy need
and mortal care.
The outside battle mirrors
the one within.
Can I relieve myself
of duty?
Never.
Can I find a way
to care for myself
and you
at the same time?
I try and fail,
by my own standard, anyway.
Can I trust
you can stand
alone
long enough
for me to breathe
and remember the hedgerows
at their peak
in the green summertime
so far from here?
That’s a lie.
A story someone else has told.
I’ve never seen them,
so there is no memory
to dust off
and recall.
But I own a few
seeds that I pocketed
long ago,
before you were a whisper
on the wind.
The Daffodils in
that soaking April…
the gnarled old tree
I claimed,
I sat in,
longing for home
and discovering it
all at once.
My two minutes of solitude,
head ducked against the rain,
feet treading on tired cobblestone
as strong as it ever was.
It was a taste
that awoke
a lifetime of hunger.
I yearned most of all
for you, my love.
I must remember that.
Why do I forget the most
when I look at you?
What threat was I imagining
I spotted on the horizon
when you lost the roundness
of your cheeks?