ONE ANOTHER’S BEST 

It happens when what I say

and what I’d hoped to say

are one and the same, and even

better than I hoped.

The sure

perfection of it lingers.

Gratitude seems not enough.

I want to let the world

know, but quietly—so quietly

that no one hears me but

myself.

It’s like discovering

love for the first, last

and only time.

The once

of it gladdens but saddens.

“Sorrow ends,” wrote Shakespeare,

“not when it seemeth done.”

My only one, my dearest,

your requiem and birthday

happened together.

Was this

your way or God’s of promising

that right now and forever

would someday be the same

for us, regardless of the odds?

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