how many mornings
were left
on the floor –
fingers unfolding
pressed to my heart
so thankful for this
I lived for
gifts unintended
traded to me –
nights I said grace
while you slept
of moments between
to take without leaving
to break
without bread
kneeling in shadows
and blessed
for all that was written
a time passed before
I awoke in your dreams –
unashamed of the light
that fell like a whisper
with a promise
of more

. . .