I Call Her Beloved

We meet each night

in the reflection of

a full length mirror

to tell the truth

I can hardly believe or

to believe the truth

I can hardly tell.

I trace fingertips

across the soft map

of this story,

starting again

whenever I wince,

for this reverence

is learned and

if it takes all night

I will have her know

she is worth the time.

Wonder magnified,

waxing and waning

like this womb -

she always knows

what is finished and

what is still becoming,

Lady Wisdom.

We linger in love for

these lines and layers

naked and unashamed,

warm to lamplight

while we ponder

everything -

every

single

thing

carried and crucified,

held and set free.