I entrust myself to thought, what
the gray matter in my head nurtures.
The words that refract through its crystal
are clear enough if not for posterity,
like rain beating against a window.

But how do I explain your beauty,
the marvelous question beheld since college?
What the heart endures and resonates,
even this hour is for posterity
recorded countless times.

You never turn a deaf ear. You as mother,
and the birth of children, giving into their light.
How can I explain the beauty of your face,
swayed by the rhythm of breath that spills
my thought like blossoms, pulling me
through dark places. How you hold my hand
that no one picks up.

To the smallness of my thought,
I know mercy. I know love.
The wind through a summer meadow.
Night’s stars radiate from a time before
I was born sowing their wonder.
How snow falls like stars, and the rainbow
breaks through after a storm like the sun.
I entrust myself completely to your loveliness,
having learned as long as there is anything
there is love.

Stephen Cipot
Garden City Park