She never knew that her love
freely splashing around
on the parched, bitter soil
of my heart, saved my life.
That she was a literal gift,
an answer to lame, limping
prayer, the gift that would show
me that Spirit would hear
my halting and gimpy attempts.
She offered me all that she was;
despite being far beyond desperate,
I refused, for I knew that she could
find a better man, rather than battered.
That night long ago when I lay
on my bed, when I hadn't a prayer,
knowing only that I had to find
one, to grab onto something to live.
My last prayer that night was a Thank You
to the Universe for the pure love
that she showed me.  I asked that she
knew that I loved her for loving
when I contained nothing alive.
Next morning I woke, made my coffee
and ran to the stand for my paper.
Took a shower, poured my cup, and then dropped it
as I saw her smile on the front page.