Where does the morning start?
Where does the air first touch my skin when I lay in my bed on a June morning
With my eyes closed,
Giving all of my first thoughts to you?
How do you make my life happier, better, fuller, more inviting with every moment knowing your name?
Shall I ask the birds
--because you love them--
Which feather gives them flight?
Which drop, if removed,
Would stop the waterfall?
Which beat of my heart loves you the most?
Which petal makes the bloom beautiful?
Which charge, charged back, brings the lightning?
All that I am,
All that I feel,
All that I desire or hope to be,
Every dream, every prayer,
All my laughter,
All my silence,
Everything, all of it
Is yours, Bice.
Will it burn up,
Be consumed, gone,
Like so much smoke on a summer day?
It is the wick effect--
My love for you flames, melts, pools, rises in air, and then burns again;
I am a little bright candle in a glass jar.
I am love in the palm of your hand.
Keep me close--
I give a fine light.