"For no one knows the hour at which I come."
Yet one does know who has arrived and what gift they bear, doesn't one, for this is love: this love, and only this is love.
For this my knees were made.
For this the earth and my knees shall be one worship.
So swimming in you. Listening to loons in summer dark in you with you. Moonlight rippling on our bare shoulders grazing kissing in you.
Loving in you the lakes in you.
Entering you already in you.
Listening to Dylan while traveling west, early seventies stuff, his family stuff, singing in you coming home in you the song in you.
Already one, already this love.
Already always this love.
Tulips in you, honey bees in you, marriage in you, infidelity in you, what is new in you.
Hurting in you and healed in you and beyond help in you.
It is written we shall be lucky in prayer and unlucky in love for so long as it is bodies to which our longing points and yet "and yet" in you.
Giving up in you.
All up in you, in on you, all all of you.
My tongue in you in the forest in you to make all birds sing in you and all rivers say amen in you and sunlight say hallelujah in you.
Rising in you with her in you who was always in you, and always you, always.