Carefully

As the rains return again, I note, almost
in passing, how my love for you remains, and
how the darkness, and wind, and sorry days of

work and worry cannot shake it. We are not
built to last, and we know that; some speak of life
as if it were stark tragedy alone, a

trudging from the diaper to the death bed, doomed
because end it must. Others try, by seeking
comedic relief, to put such gloom aside,

assuming that to live brightly today will,
somehow, pay for the pain of barely living
later, when the last two months have but begun.

The truth place somewhere between; I would, if the
gods permitted, gaze into your hazel eyes
every day of forever, but knowing this

will end, and relatively soon, makes me not
over-sad, nor will I lie to myself, or
you, with thoughtless laughter; rather it makes me

carefully love you, deeply as I do now,
breathing your name in, breathing it out, like prayer.