I will speak your name with gentleness
not only when the air is still,
but even when thunder lives between us.
For even then, my love for you does not falter.
It only quiets itself
so it can listen.
I will never stop asking,
How can I love you better?
For you, I would be ten thousand times
more beautiful, more wise,
more patient, more kind.
If such a thing were possible,
I would become it.
Not for myself.
For me, I ask nothing.
But for you
I wish a thousandfold more of me.
I wish to be the kind of soft
you can rest your soul in.
I vow to grow not just old,
but whole with you
to be shaped by the seasons
of your spirit,
to remain endlessly curious
about the sacred country of your soul,
no matter how familiar it becomes.
I will trace the gentle furrows time leaves on your face
and think, always: How did I get this lucky?
When the world dims,
I will not simply stand beside you,
I will steady you.
And when joy finds us,
I will hold its shape with you,
quietly,
gratefully.
When your hands grow tired,
I will carry what they can’t.
Not out of duty,
but because loving you
makes strength feel like instinct.